


Your Attention, Please

by madrastic



Series: From the Nowhere Archives [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (Or is it?), (for the b plot), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bodyguard Romance, Conditioning, Courtly Love, Deception, Developing Relationship, Dragons, Elves, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, King/Guard - Freeform, Kings & Queens, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Master/Servant, Misunderstandings, Multi, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Neurodiversity, Nudity, Open Relationships, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Torture, Politics, Poltical Intrigue, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rated E for later chapters, Recovery, Requited Unrequited Love, Romance, Royalty, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Teasing, Trans Male Character, Trauma, Trust Issues, Undressing, Whump, just... just give it a second
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 164,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrastic/pseuds/madrastic
Summary: The new king is an odd one. He never speaks in meetings, using his guard's voice instead to communicate everything necessary for his advisors to know. His wife, too, is different from her predecessor. Stony faced and stern, Queen Malaidor rules with a fist made of velvet, not iron. Any day now, she'll take up the gauntlet. For all her harping on equality, it won't be long until she's going the way of her predecessor.At the side of the most powerful man in all of Galailan, Hastion does his best to attend to his liege. As the personal guard to King Galengar, only the best behavior is expected of him. He lives to please him, breathes to serve him; every secret he learns will die with him. If only he could ignore those pesky emotions getting in the way of it all. The palace dungeons are far from an attractive place to be.[Standalone]
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, queen/her best friend she led a coup with/their anxious to please captain of the guard
Series: From the Nowhere Archives [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633051
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. 1-1

**Author's Note:**

> lil novella side project set in the Aconite universe, 13 years in the past. i'll update once a week, usually, projected to have 22 chapters (and if not, something's gone wrong!), 17 actual chapters and 5 interludes
> 
> tags will change as i add chapters, there'll be a warning at the top of nsfw ones
> 
> special thanks, as always, to Blue_Stars_Above to being both my editor and my fiance (whom i love)!
> 
> UPDATE: We have a [podfic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cq_Bcght_F8)!

Summers were more tolerable now, and Hastion was thankful for that. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Ever since entering the employ of the palace, his schedule had been the dictionary definition of busy, though the bulk of it was spent in either blessed shade or cool palatial rooms. Not to mention the pay was  _ incredible _ , to say the least.

Then again, being the new captain of the guard likely had something to do with his income steadily rising over the months as his candidacy was considered, that and the ease with which he adjusted to King Galengar’s schedule without complaint. He had quickly found the king far busier than anyone expected, times that had been slotted as breaks devoured in favor of more meetings and nights spent poring over paperwork. Not that Hastion had been privy to such things, his king was a fan of working in his chambers, squirreled away from the outside, until early in the morning. It wasn’t healthy, but who was Hastion to judge?

Today, though, there were meetings. So many meetings. Enough meetings that Hastion was  _ sure _ he was going to drown in them, binders and loose leaf piling high around him as figures spilled into his lungs, stilling his breath until his heart could beat no more. He hated meetings.

King Galengar seemed to be bored with them, from what Hastion could tell. Bored and exhausted. Getting the hang of reading his emotions had been a challenge—the man’s hands made signs clean and crisp, the easy dialect of someone who was well versed in the manual language. Learning it within three months hadn’t left Hastion with a sense of the emotive range inherent in it. Facial expressions were also dubious, as they were often used in supplication to signs, adding meaning or distinguishing tone. Hastion was trying. He was trying very hard.

Fortunately or unfortunately for him, this was a meeting the king enjoyed having. For some ungodly reason, he was partial to his financial advisors. How a man could genuinely find joy in the amount of math necessary to follow along, Hastion couldn’t comprehend. He had to be here, though, here and present, attending to his king.

Meetings were different from other times, namely in that King Galengar borrowed his guard’s voice. Hastion had been permitted to stand beside his charge, where he could see his king’s signs clearly and easily and repeat aloud what his king said. Too many in the royal court had deigned to learn sign language, unable to recognize even basic words. Truly, it was remarkable. It was also remarkable how quickly Hastion’s voice went hoarse after four hours straight of speaking.

When it cracked in the middle of relating how the king wanted to institute a new tax plan, something that would provide the palace with enough funding to run a scholarship program in the Academy of Magics for those who couldn’t afford the steep fees, the king paused his sentence, hands stilling as he gave his guard a concerned glance.

‘Are you alright?’ The words were for him and him alone, dark grey eyes glittering with an emotion akin to concern.

“Yes,” clearing his throat, Hastion took a sip of the water provided for him, “I’m perfectly, alright. Please, my Lord, continue.”

He didn’t. ‘I’m having you speak too much, aren’t I.” Before he could protest, the king continued. “My apologies, I forget how much it can grate on one’s throat.’

“You aren’t, my Lord, I can assure you.” Hastion’s smile bordered on placating as the advisors gave the two a glance, only able to understand one half of the conversation.

‘Sair Hastion, please.’ It was so incredibly hard to resist watching the king’s face as he signed, alert for any additional information. ‘The next time your voice is sore, let me know. I can hear perfectly well, and I can accommodate myself if need be.’

“My Lord, it isn’t an issue, I live to serve you—”

His words were cut off with a scowl. It wasn’t directed at Hastion, yes, but the urge to flinch, to beg for his life jumped to the forefront of his mind. He had made his king angry, and angry kings were not known for their mercy. The Elven King was to be a symbol of reason, a bastion of morality, and here Hastion was, ruining his mood.

A traitorous tremble worked its way into his hands as his pointed ears drifted down, betraying a fraction of the ice currently running through his veins. Not for the first time in his life, he regretted being born an elf, regretted living in the capital city. Frowning kings meant a trip to the gallows and a stay in the dungeons. Frowning kings meant getting shipped off to a ‘kyani, off to be either worked to death or molded into a new, more pleasing form. Frowning kings meant—

No. He wasn’t breathing. Taking a shallow, steading breath, Hastion got the shaking under some semblance of control. A harsh ear twitch dislodged those types of thoughts, or, at least, gave the illusion of dislodging thoughts.

Different kings were different people. It was important to remember that. King Galengar was not King Essren—Essren the Burner, now—and it would behoove Hastion to remember that. Now, a frowning king meant… well… he didn’t know. A year in his king’s service, and he still didn’t know what it meant when King Galengar frowned. No one did. That was a terrifying thought indeed.

‘Please, Sair Hastion, don’t say that. Don’t do it either.’ King Galengar’s signs were sharp, hands making the shapes with exaggerated clarity. ‘I don’t want you to live to serve me, I simply require your assistance from time to time. Right now, I require you to sit down and take a drink. I assure you, no one is going to rush in and stab me in this very moment.’

That wasn’t a particularly calming thought, but Hastion could appreciate the effort. “If it is your will, then of course, my Lord.”

Sitting down in an overstuffed chair, Hastion avoided the eyes of the advisors, shocked and surprised, wringing their hands under the table. Anxiety ran high in the room as Galengar signed to a nearby attendant for a chalkboard, smiling and mouthing a “thank you” when the poor thing rushed out, eager to obey and yet more eager to get out of the blast zone when this king no doubt exploded in rage. There were firsts for everything, and Hastion could only hope for mercy. The king would likely want him to properly apologize afterwards for being such a disappointment.

Perhaps it would be in private. The king was a highly personal man and none had seen what his punishments entailed, most things done in private. Hastion was not allowed into the king’s chambers unless summoned, not allowed to attend to him until the king was ready to leave for the day. Nearly thirteen months of service, and Hastion hadn’t seen him in any state of undress at all, always perfectly poised and made up. Really, it was a joke at this point, how little King Galengar must have thought of him, how little he trusted his own guard so as to not let him into his chambers.

At least it made his job easier, staring out at the hallway for hours at a time, trying to remain as focused as he could. It helped to ignore sounds coming from inside the king’s rooms. Kings likely didn’t like speculation on their personal habits, especially from uppity guards with an overinflated sense of self-worth. That thought made Hastion’s fingers curl against the long table dominating the room, nails skittering against black glass.

As an attendant handed the king a chalkboard, again with another “thank you”, they returned to their spot on the wall. Hastion could see the way their hands trembled, clasped so tightly in front of them that their knuckles turned white. The palace could be quite a terrifying place, now that no one knew what the unspoken rules were, anymore. Hastion was just happy that he hadn’t served under King Essren. Very happy about that.

With a pleased look on his face, King Galengar held up the chalkboard, now containing the words “ _ We can continue like this and let SA. Hastion rest.” _

A few hesitant chuckles spread throughout the room, his advisors nodding along. It was comical, the king writing on a board to communicate with his own court while his guard sat as if he belonged here, helping himself to water. That King Galengar insisted on the attendants keeping Hastion’s cup topped up was not helping. More than anything, he just wanted a clear instruction. Really, that was King Galengar’s biggest flaw: he never told people exactly what he wanted, instead poking around to check if his subjects knew his moods well enough to predict the answers he wanted to hear. It was quite terrifying.

For now, though, Hastion didn’t seem at risk of public correction. If anything, this would likely be one of the few times he would be allowed to rest without fear or pain, if only to prepare him for what his master had in store. King Galengar was almost certainly going to punish him for this, and Hastion would accept it with a smile and a “thank you”. It was expected of him and, for all he had been granted, his king could do whatever he liked to him.

He couldn’t help but notice his king’s handwriting. Neat, true, a lingering sloppiness as his left hand scrawled across the board formed the letters of Higherspeak without much issue. Much like the king, it was beautifully imperfect and Hastion could spend the entire day watching him write.

Er—well—not like that. Of course, his king was beautiful and gorgeous, especially when the sun hit his blond hair and made it glow like arcane fire, or when the king smiled, and it was the brightest thing in the room. His clothes were the finest things, made of the most expensive silks and fabrics, done up in the new royal colors. Blue and gold looked quite well on him, the miniscule jewels and beads even better. They caught the light and dazzled Hastion, holding his heart fast and mind rapt. Despite his orders, he wanted to be allowed to assist in the mornings.

No, that was foolish thinking. Foolish and treasonous. Kings were beautiful, it was to be expected, and Hastion should stop this train of thought before he got his hopes up. He wasn’t even paying attention, simply staring at his king like some kind of moonstruck fool, watching the Sun of Galailan write his words out instead of using him like his kind was meant to. This wasn’t what his training had prepared him for.

Before Hastion knew it, the conversation was wrapping up with promises of reports being filed and the chalkboard being erased once more in favor of writing farewells. Smiles were exchanged and, all too soon, the advisors exited the room, leaving his king alone in the meeting hall, the silence following the door’s close weighing like a noose around everyone’s neck. Right. For his insolence, Hastion would face the consequences.

This was his fault and all he could do was politely stare at the room around them, trying desperately to be spared from looking at his king’s expression. That was a level of boldness Hastion didn’t want to know the result of. No, he could be excused like this, not even daring to look at his king’s form. He knew well enough not to be disrespectful, it was taught to any child living in the capital. The king didn’t tolerate disrespect. It could always be you on the Wall.

In his panic, he was asininely watching the way sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows past the heavy blue curtains. The dark glass table, by all appearances grown out of the very ground beneath their feet, was far too long for Hastion to be sitting like this, at his king’s elbow. He should be standing and at his post and apologizing and begging for his king’s mercy and—and he didn’t have permission to do that. His king had ordered him to sit and be silent, and so, Hastion was to sit and be silent.

A gentle hand tipped his chin up. His heart leapt into his throat, breathing speeding inexorably up. This was it. This was how his punishment started, with an impossible rule to obey. When his face was level with the royal visage, that hand finally slowed, removing itself from his personal space. Swallowing, Hastion avoided those eyes, storm clouds on a summer afternoon, glinting with unreadable emotions.

‘Sair Hastion, is everything alright?’ His king asked him. His king asked  _ him _ .

“Of course, my Lord.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think. “Please do as you see fit, I am but your humble servant.”

A pause stretched, words and letters dying on royal hands. Then, with a sigh, the king turned away. Hastion’s chest squeezed his lungs tight as the first prickles of tears stung his eyes. Waving away the attendants, King Galengar sealed his fate. As the people filed out, giving him as sympathetic a glance as they dared, he didn’t hear much of anything aside from the heavy, final click of the door closing.

He had fucked up, he had fucked up so much more than he had initially thought, and now he was going to suffer the consequences.

Before his king was forced to highlight his incompetence, the guard knelt down before his master, blood rushing in his ears as tears dripped down his cheeks. How much more of a failure could he be, crying like a child before his punishment had even started. Pressing his forehead into the cool tile as he bowed, Hastion ignored the way his breath hitched in his chest, his voice creaking like an old branch in the wind.

“Please, my Lord, do as you wish to me. I thank you for this punishment.”

Shifting of fabric sounded above him and it took everything not to flinch. King Galengar wouldn’t want him to flinch. A good guard didn’t, accepting their king’s will silently and without protest. Hastion was a good guard. Hastion  _ wanted _ to be a good guard. The captain should set a good example; this was his duty. It didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified. He had never messed up like this, bad enough for King Galengar to send everyone away. There would be no witnesses. The king was a private man, after all.

Warm and firm, a hand settled on his shoulder. Much to his shame, Hastion’s body jerked, tensing up in anticipation of a slap. It never came.

More taps to his shoulder enticed him into looking up, trying to ignore the way tears spilled down his face. He wasn’t allowed to wipe them away. Why couldn’t he control himself, it was a simple thing. Just stop crying. Children behaved better, and here he was, being granted a position in the palace and acting like a spoiled brat.

Through blurry eyes, he could see his king’s words, expression concerned. It was ridiculous that a guard would warrant his concern and mercy like this.

‘Hastion, you can’t know what I’m saying to you if you aren’t looking at me.’ Yes, that was very true. Another one of Hastion’s failures.

“I-I—” Speak, damn fool. “I am very sorry, my Lord. It will never happen again, I swear to you. P-please—”

His king, a man who must have been an avatar of mercy, smiled. ‘It’s alright, really.’ The royal sleeve wiped at his eyes, no doubt smudging the kohl he wore, if the black smear on dark blue silk was anything to go by. ‘Just take a deep breath, alright?’

Nodding, he took the deepest breath he could, a shallow approximation of obedience. Despite himself, his mouth kept flapping, as if he would be able to sweet talk himself out of this. “I wouldn’t want you to ruin your sleeve, my Lord.”

‘It isn’t an issue, the laundresses here are unnervingly good at getting stains out of fabric. I’m sure you aren’t the first one to get a bit of makeup on it.’ Again, that smile, as if this weren’t the longest conversation the two had had.

Right. He knew what this was. His king needed to punish him for his own good, that was clear enough, but he wanted to make sure Hastion understood that this wasn’t personal. A light indignation pooled in his stomach. Of course, he understood, there was no need for all this. He could accept his master’s will as it came and return to his chambers to lick his wounds, if his king allowed it.

“Please, my Lord, I understand the necessity of this. You do not need to coddle me. I accept my failure and am willing to atone.” His voice was steadying. Good.

As his eyes drifted down again, a hand pulled his face back up, his king forced to sign one-handed. ‘Then you should accept that you haven’t failed.’

The disbelief must have showed on Hastion’s face, for his king continued.

‘You haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t let you rest, and I overlooked the fact that your voice will get tired. It’s quite alright, there’s no need to cry.’ A royal thumb wiped a fresh tear away. ‘You’ve been very good to me, and I apologize for using your voice beyond its limits.’

This must have been a dream. His king was apologizing to him. Kings didn’t apologize. Thirteen months, just a few weeks under a year and this was how his first correction went.

Oh. Wait. He understood now. His king likely wanted something more… personal. That was fine, actually. Better than fine. Hastion knew what he was doing, in that case. At least he lasted longer than most guards, he could take pride in that.

‘Why don’t you take the day off? I’d hate for you to be more stressed.’

He has been wrong. He had made an assumption, and he had been quite wrong indeed. Hastion enjoyed being able to sit and walk normally very much, and taking the day off strongly implied he would be able to do neither. It was fitting, he supposed, since he’d spent so long sitting. His king saw how his face paled and eyes widened.

‘—Or not, you can stay on shift if you’d like.’ The hand patted his shoulder gently. ‘I was just going to head back to my chambers to look through some reports, you’re welcome to accompany me, if you’d like.’

He must have nodded, because the hand withdrew as his king stood. Numbly, Hastion imitated the gesture, making himself as presentable as possible, despite how smudged his kohl must have been. Everyone would know his fate, but at least this would stop the worst of the glances. Creams and extra bandages would manifest in his room, as if by magic, footsteps quiet outside his door and attendants whispering in hushed voices as he recovered. At least he would be left blessedly alone.

Fighting down the urge to simply accept his fate, Hastion composed himself into what his king would want, what he would expect. King Galengar had never been particularly keen on public punishments, from what people could glean. There wasn’t a doubt in Hastion’s mind that his king was perfectly capable of it, true, but he seemed to favor more personal ones. It certainly didn’t help how no one had come forth with a report of what it would consist of.

His shoes clicked on the tile, painfully loud, as he walked his king to the royal chambers. Somehow, the journey stretched into years, thoughts bubbled and swirled around his mind of how disappointed his master was going to be with him, how unfortunate tonight was going to be. At least King Galengar seemed kind enough not to push him beyond his limits.

Nodding to other guards as they passed, Hastion tried to ignore the looks he was given, faces ranging from concern to dark satisfaction. It was no secret that he was a polarizing figure, the right hand of the new monarchy and the fresh head of the guards, despite being neither the most senior nor the most capable competitor for that position. He hadn’t even known he was competing.

A not insignificant portion of the older guards had not heralded his rise with much elation, labelling him as a plant for the royals and a traitor. The king didn’t care about that, from what Hastion could tell. It was his problem, he  _ was _ the captain now and these were his people. Really, whatever didn’t get his head on the chopping block was fine for Hastion.

Passing through the richly decorated halls of the palace felt less like a privilege and more a death sentence, the tapestries and paintings mocking him, dyes and pigments snickering behind their artistry. Polished floors gleamed in the summer sun, expensive tile reflecting Hastion’s own face back at him, warped and distorted. He tried to get his breathing under control, taking as deep and slow breaths as he could. It didn’t help much.

All too soon, he was standing outside the gold-inlaid door of his king. As calm as ever, King Galengar entered, beckoning Hastion in. The guards on either side of the door gave him a pitying glance as he stepped over the threshold for the first time. Perfect, just perfect. This was going to spread further. Hastion was the first to be publicly shamed like this, the first needing to be set straight.

The door clicked closed behind them, the king busying himself with a latch to ensure no one entered. How kind of him to afford Hastion some time and privacy to get himself into the proper position. A glance around the room revealed nothing convenient to lean on, especially not for a king shorter than him. Neither the desk nor the table would do, and Hastion hadn’t been given permission to go into the bedroom. Did that mean he was to get on his knees on the floor? It must have, right?

Kneeling, Hastion bowed his head politely as footsteps approached. “My Lord, I will take whatever punishment you see fit. I thank you for your mercy.”

A soft sigh prefaced the king sitting beside him. Gentle hands tipped his face up again.

‘Please look at me, you can’t tell what I’m saying if you don’t look.’ King Galengar mouthed the words nice and slow, hands occupied. ‘I don’t want to punish you.’

Right. Stupid Hastion. “I am undeserving of your kindness, my Lord.” He should be groveling. He should kiss his king’s boots for such mercy.

That perfect royal mouth set into a frown as one hand came away. Sign came easier to him, after all. ‘They really still teach the guards this?’

“Y-yes, my Lord?” Was the king not aware? Maybe it had been his wife to finalize the training schedules.

The frown only deepened. ‘I see. Well, it’s lucky that I have the captain right on hand, isn’t it?’

All Hastion could do was blink, dumbstruck. “I… I suppose, my Lord.”

‘How about this for your punishment: you have to remove… um…’

His hands drifted aimlessly through the air, as if trying to pick through all possible words for the one he meant. Hastion’s hands were already at his belt, anticipating his king’s command.

‘The groveling? It’s been a while since I looked through the curriculum… What are you doing.’

He blinked at his king, cheeks heating up, a new tremor in his hands forcing his belt to clink against itself loudly. “You asked me to remove something, I apologize for my insolence.”

‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ The tips of King Galengar’s ears were turning pink.

“Yes, my Lord, I understand that now.” He was going to die. “My humblest a-apologies. Please, I welcome whatever correction you deem fit for my boldness.”

His king’s signs were tired, less precise, as if something were weighing on his wrists. ‘Sair Hastion, please. I don’t want to punish you, and I don’t want to hit you. If you could get me the documents pertaining to the curriculum for palace staff and guards, then we can put this matter to bed.’

Well, that was clearly madness. Hastion’s punishment was… paperwork. And editing the guards’ education. Was the king ill? Should he call someone?

Evidently, his silence had stretched too long, surprise far too evident. King Galengar’s face adopted a more thoughtful look, shifting his position. Oh Creator take him, Hastion was still holding his belt in his hands. Dropping it with a loud thunk, he tried to pay attention as his king started to sign at him again.

‘You’re right, that may be a bit hard for you to do on your own. I’ll just do it myself, don’t worry.’ A breathy sound that could have been a laugh spilled from the king’s lips. Not that Hastion was looking. That would be insolent. ‘I’ll put that on the to-do list. Really, though, are you alright? If you don’t feel well, you’re welcome to take the day off, I certainly don’t mind.’

This… was a test. Hastion was being tested right now. “My place is at your side, my Lord.”

He shook his head. ‘Oh please, you don’t have to do that.’

“My apologies, but, do what, my Lord?”

‘You don’t have to be all formal.’ King Galengar tucked his legs up under him. ‘I won’t mind, I promise.’

It was a joke, it had to be. In all honesty, Hastion wasn’t sure he  _ could _ address his king without a title. That level of disrespect… Would his king even identify with his name? Was there a name sign he preferred? Was Hastion being treasonous in even thinking those questions?

“I… I do not mean to disrespect you, my Lord.”

‘I would not see it as a sign of disrespect.’

He wasn’t going to cry right now. His king didn’t want him to cry, and so, Hastion was not going to cry. It was silly, he was being silly. This was simply a test, no matter how honey-sweet his king’s words were, how kind his face was, how beautiful he looked at every waking moment. That was the danger with him, his sweetness. King Galengar could talk the stars into falling, the moon into giving up her Dogstar. King Galengar could stop wars with a word and turn bitter enemies to brothers at the drop of a hat.

There was nothing Hastion could do to fight against it, not when those eyes, determined and capable, looked at him with such gravitas. He was going to drown in them, he was going to burst into flames, the fires and floods at the end of the world held nothing on his king. Smoke curled up from his clothing from the force of his king’s gaze, Hastion could smell it. King Galengar wanted an answer, and his guard was going to give him one.

“Of course, my L—” It took everything to change his words. “Of course, Sir. I shall ensure that you receive it.”

‘Good, thank you, Sair Hastion.’ That little hint of praise burned into his mind, body letting him know just how much he craved more. The dangers of the new king.

With smooth motions, King Galengar stood, eyes still on his guard. Refraining from fidgeting suddenly became quite difficult as he was scrutinized. What an image he must make, eyes red from tears and kohl all smudged, cheeks burning to the tips of his ears. Maybe his king could overlook the way his skin reminded people of ash, his eyes and hair as dark as charcoal, so unlike the Elven standard, so undesirable. It was a foolish thought, but thoughts were foolish things.

Hastion was quickly thankful for the way fabric obfuscated his form as images popped into his mind, his shirt pooling with the weight he had lost over the course of several months. Training had not spared him. It wouldn’t do for the king to see the effect he had on his guard, how his touches had lingered on Hastion’s skin, how his gaze rooted him to the richly carpeted floor.

‘I do have work to be doing, though.’ With that smile, the king could ask anything he wanted of Hastion, anything at all. ‘You’re welcome to rest here, but I have to ask that you do not enter my workroom. Many classified documents pass through my hands and I fear that you are not able to view them all.’

Wait. What level of classification was higher than the one afforded to the man spending his entire day with the king?

“Yes, my—” He cleared his throat, chewing on his lip. “Yes, Sir.”

A gentle hand cupped his cheek once more, squeezing gently, and Hastion swore he could feel callouses on his king’s palm. ‘Thank you, Sair Hastion. Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure you were familiarized with the layout of my chambers.’

The warmth withdrew as King Galengar let his hand fall, passing into the other room like it was nothing at all. Hastion stayed like that as the door quietly shut, staring up as if he could see an afterimage of his king, bright as the sun. His knees hurt. Ha. His knees hurt, that should have been the least of his complaints after what he had done. Jaw slack as the first time he saw such splendor, a barely audible whine slipped out of his mouth as he shifted, the situation between his legs resolving itself posthaste. His king was just so kind, so beautiful, the epitome of grace. Could Hastion help how his body reacted? Especially when his king was so close, so daring…

That was going to be a problem later, but for now, Hastion had to figure out if he really  _ was _ allowed to move. It wouldn’t be ideal for his king to exit his personal workroom and see his guard disobeying his orders. Now. What in the world had he meant by ‘comfortable’?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> liked the story? [leave a tip!](https://ko-fi.com/madlysacrosanct)  
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	2. 1-2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A routine meeting with the nobles, as always, ends in fighting. Malaidor's just tired at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pops champagne bottle* happy tuesday updating early bc i'll be busy tomorrow

Queen Malaidor was tired. More than anything, Queen Malaidor was very, very tired. Two years of nothing but meetings and negotiations and politics had a way of grating on anyone’s nerves. It was a miracle how any of the nobles stayed sane—well, no. That wasn’t entirely right. She could count on one hand all of the nobles that were sane enough to be tolerable.

Here she was, trying to repair the kingdom as best she could, and yet they still kept on speaking over her every chance they could get away with it, urging her to favor their opinions over each other’s. It was maddening, the circus she was forced to deal with every single time she needed to make a domestic policy decision. At this point, Malaidor had half a mind to simply say “fuck it” and make her own rulings. A few key policies to strip them of their power and she would have free reign. Free reign, and suddenly several other duties on her plate, along with a dangerous precedent.

They had a purpose, annoying as they were. Malaidor could hardly run all the miniscule minutia of government; her position was one of general decisions and legislature, even if it meant she spent a good deal of her day pretending to argue with people who really should know better at this point. She should rule that all their bastard children were entitled to their inheritance. That would be a good way to watch havoc break out as people scrambled to keep their lines as pure as possible.

No, that was cruel. Cruel, and a distraction she should save for later. Now, though, Malaidor should be paying attention to what Lord Graeus was ranting himself hoarse about. Fittingly he was the most vocal of his dynasty, patriarchs held an awful lot of power. Really, though, were his words strictly a necessity? The second he realized he had managed to snag the queen’s attention, he would instantly change the topic to how his grandchildren would make excellent dauphins, his grandson especially, that or he would complain about whatever slight he perceived her latest decision to have been. It was infuriating, surely he understood that?

Well, he had gone on for long enough about the new syllabi in the Academy of Magics. He could resolve that at the appropriate meeting, not a general one to touch base on dynastic integration and potential alterations to hiring palace staff.

“If I may have silence, please.” The Queen’s voice carried, firm and assertive, throughout the meeting hall.

As the nobles obeyed, voices quieting down, Malaidor couldn’t help but yearn for the sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass windows. This was truly a beautiful hall and it was a shame to be using it for such aggravating meetings as when the new programs regarding the hiring of palace staff would be put into effect. Had she been able to do this on her own, it would have been already done. Towering windows let light pour in, obsidian and gold inlays decorating the walls. The more ancient parts of the palace were always so enthralling.

With the cool black metal of the table under her hands, far more ancient than any of the bloodlines gathered here today, Malaidor collected her thoughts. They had gone off topic, and it was time to rein everyone back in. This policy needed to be instituted sooner rather than later; the palace was a leader for hiring practices all along the coast, so, by allowing people of mixed species employment, the rest of the city would follow. Hopefully. Very hopefully.

She stood, ensuring that all eyes were on her. “Thank you. Now, if we may continue with this discussion. As we have agreed, the palace is still short on staff.” Start off with something they can’t argue with. “The proposed solution is to consider those who are neither fully Elven nor fully human. As we have established, this will introduce more job prospects and increase the standard of living throughout the city as a whole. Are there any pressing concerns that I must hear?”

There were always concerns, and Malaidor had to hear all of them, unfortunately. True, it was a measure to prevent another Essren, but it was also a pain. Bureaucracy was just so slow. Every day, she wished it was someone else on the throne, someone who enjoyed this an iota more than her.

“I have a concern.” Lord Graeus’s reedy voice piped up as he rose, hands folded primly in front of him. “What will you do to prevent thieving?”

Oh, like what his son did with a tapestry highlighting Queen Taniaq’s peace treaty with the inhabitants of the Polythallas? Rich, coming from him.

Tone level and calm, Malaidor met his gaze with little fanfare. Well. The bridge of his nose. It was close enough that no one noticed she wasn’t making eye contact.

“That hasn’t been an issue before, but all previous measures will remain in effect.” Oh, what was the harm in being petty. Turning to her guard, Malaidor tried for innocuous. “Say, this conversation reminds me. Has ‘The Thousand Year Peace of Taniaq’ turned up yet?”

The poor elf assigned to her went pale, all the blood draining from her face. She was new here, though that wasn’t uncommon for Malaidor these days. Not many were fans of being her guard, it seemed; her husband had more luck with that. Then again, her husband’s guards had to be specifically chosen to understand sign with great fluency and a penchant for secrecy and he was less likely to drive them away with an inability to emote properly. Malaidor gave her elf another month or so, at the maximum. As much as she tried to connect with them, her guards never ended up staying for long.

“N-no, Your Majesty, it has not.” Fear tinged her voice, as if she hadn’t expected to be addressed in this meeting.

All around them, nobles did their best not to look at Lord Graeus, a couple of snickers bubbling up as his face turned the most unflattering shade of red. Really, that man was so drawn up in slights and propriety that a single deviation sent him into a conniption lasting half hours at the minimum. One of these days, he was going to forget just who he was speaking with and snap at the queen. That was going to be more than aggravating, dealing with fallout. Maybe she could bar him from meetings for a month when that happened.

“Interesting,” was what she said instead, “quite interesting. I do hope that we do not have to track it by arcane measures, it is a rather valuable work of art.” Before anyone could respond, she sighed. “Why not give it a week more. I’m sure it’s simply been misplaced. Now, back to the question at hand—I do hope you forgive my non-sequitur—we have many ways of tracking things. If push comes to shove, we will be able to locate anything missing via the Arcanium, so it wouldn’t cause much trouble.”

Lord Graeus had the wherewithal to look slightly mollified. “I see. What of culture, then?”

“Culture?”

“Yes, culture. Those you are considering would not have the same culture as we are accustomed to.” What a ridiculous sentiment.

Shifting her skirts against the sweltering air around them, Malaidor remained unreadable. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, Lord Graeus. We are all of the same culture—the common folk more so. Though, if you continue to worry, we can institute a similar training program as we have for the guards. The increase in tax rates would be both marginal and overshadowed by the economic opportunities provided as other businesses follow our lead. Employment rates would rise greatly, from the models I have shown you all.”

Money spoke, and it was that voice that silenced Lord Falidan Graeus. There was little he could do to argue with her in a way that didn’t expose more of his cards than he liked. Playing innocent had its advantages, though what Malaidor wouldn’t overlook were his tax records. She needed to tell Galengar to take an especially close look at him. He was hiding something, and Malaidor was keen on digging his secrets right back up from the closets he had buried them in.

It was times like this, fielding more questions on the proposed economic impact, that she truly appreciated her husband. Mathematics came to him so easily, far more than for her, and his words were always soothing. Had he been able to speak, there would be no doubt that Malaidor would have insisted he be the public face of the dynasty.

It was only the two of them now, nothing much would be different. Unfortunately, that was not to be the case. The two of them were constantly briefing each other, working in tandem to rule a country that most certainly didn’t want to be ruled by the likes of them. It worked well enough, though, and served to annoy the other dynasties as Malaidor abstained from choosing a dauphin.

The reasoning was simple enough: the Kadrios dynasty was not keen on being out of power and the Seli’ins had no usable heirs. No way was Malaidor letting her country fall apart because of a poor choice of dauphin.

Her rule was an annoyance to the Kadrioses, a reminder of Essren’s failure. His family had not been keen that she had not only survived the systematic incarceration, banishment, or slaughter of her dynasty, but that she had put measures in place to ensure it never happened again. Funnily enough, Malaidor was living up to the fears people had of an Oridion on the throne. There wouldn’t be any more after her, wasn’t that fortunate?

All this resistance was such a waste of energy. Surely, the noble families should have learned how effective her policies had been. For the first time in two centuries, unemployment had fallen across the board in all territories and regions. Non-standard species and crosses were suddenly finding jobs closer to the heart of the kingdom, rather than needing to emigrate further west.

Increased tolerance, too, was a benefit, not a detriment. Slowly but surely, people were coming out of the woodwork to live their lives: Humanish people were willing to be outside more often, though wearing veils to mitigate the brunt of the stares had become incredibly common; half-elves were able to start up their businesses under their own names rather than a purebred partner’s; half-orcs let the roots of their hair grow out and were less religious on filing down their tusks. Like a switch had been flipped, blending in was not of utmost importance anymore.

It was a good sign. Despite what every other noble decried, this was a very good sign. Hopefully a few of the restaurants serving less standard cuisine would draw the heavy curtains from their windows when they realized neither they nor their patrons were to be penalized for being so bold as to serve and eat recipes from the Northwest Territories, or Centrailia, or the Sand Wastes. One could only dream.

With a quiet sigh, Malaidor refocused her attention. The Seli’in matriarch was rising to speak, smile sly on her face. Oh, this should be interesting. The Seli’in dynasty was not known for having their fingers in many pies at all. Most of their comments came regarding taxation or education, not on economics or social reform; the bulk of their time was spent following along with something that could have just as easily been summarized in a report.

But here Nadja Seli’in was, pale green eyes languidly watching her queen, blonde hair pulled back in complex braids. It was unnerving, though Malaidor would never show it. Why did there have to be so much eye contact, nowadays?

“My Queen.” She spoke like a shark swimming through water. “Forgive me for my presumptiveness, but it seems to me that you have thought deeply on this matter and I, for one, support you in this. It is incredibly important to address the inequalities present in our society and work to leveling them.”

That was… not what Malaidor had expected to hear from the matriarch of the Seli’ins. Judging from the disguised surprise on faces all around the room, no one else had expected that, not even Nadja’s own dynasty. She was never one to speak out against much of anything, not in Malaidor’s reign and certainly not in Essren’s, falling into line as she saw fit. That there wasn’t a trace of doubt in her voice… what game was she playing? And against whom?

“And, in the same vein of thought,” a grin was just barely wrangled back into a smile, “I would like to introduce the newest member of the Seli’in dynasty. Hekion, please rise.”

Gods and men. Gods and motherfucking men. That bastard woman.

All of the air blew out of the room as a young man stood, a new face that Malaidor had initially assumed was an apprentice to someone daring enough to comply with their queen’s suggestions. His skin was creamy, a faint green tint hinting at some Orcic ancestry. Black hair had been braided back, showing off clipped ears and cool silver eyes, ringed with a dark band across the iris, indicative of a half-orc parent—though no tusks poked out from his bottom lip. Had Malaidor not been looking closely, she would have thought him a human with a sickly pallor and some distant Orcic breeding. So Nadja had an affair some thirty years ago. Good for her.

The matriarch rested her hand on his upper back with a fondness she was unable to hide. “This is my son and, from this day forth, he will be asserting his rightful place in this dynasty. Again, thank you, my Queen for all you have done. I would simply like to reaffirm my support for this cause and introduce a new face. Hekion will henceforth be attending meetings, as is his right as a child of the dynasty. I trust this will not cause issue.”

The other nobles were going to die of something. Lord Graeus looked as if he were mere seconds away from a heart attack, his son’s eyes bugging out as he stared at the poor boy. For his part, Hekion held up well, presenting himself with as much grace and respect as he could. This was likely not what he had signed up for initially.

“Of course it will not.” Malaidor inclined her head at him politely. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Hekion, and I am eager to see what you will become in due time.”

He smiled back at her, his hands clasped in front of him. “The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty. I am indebted to you, though I will endeavor to make it up posthaste. Thank you for all of the opportunities you have provided and for your support.”

“It is no trouble at all. Thank you, Lord Nadja, for your statement, and congratulations on your new member. I pray you will find joy in your futures.”

With a motion for Hekion to sit, Nadja continued, resting her hand on his shoulder. Possessive, was she. “Again, I thank you, my Queen. As you have previously said: times are changing, and it is time we change with them.”

Sputtering, the heir apparent of the Kadrios dynasty rushed to his feet in all his misplaced passion and useless spite. The man was young, and yet, far too old to be getting into arguments like this and expecting a chance of winning. His temper was only partially the reason Malaidor would not be selecting him as her dauphin.

“My Queen, surely you can’t allow this.” Another reason. It seemed he was just strengthening her argument these days with outbursts like this.

Lord Graeus knew that well enough. His glace would have set his son aflame had the boy turned to look. Despite his protests, the patriarch knew better than to publicly challenge his queen, especially not when economic success was on the line. For all he waffled and scoffed at her inclusion policies, he was more than aware of the boost it caused as new sectors of people found work. A strong economy meant a higher quality of life, after all.

This was different, though. Theolan Kaidros had not only challenged another dynasty, but also his queen. In a different era, this would have been a death sentence. Well, it seemed that Malaidor simply didn’t have the presence of her predecessor—that, or Theolan was both an idiot and a fool. With her track record, Malaidor was leaning rather strongly to the second.

Before she could speak, she caught sight of how Nadja seethed under her mask of indifference. 

“Graeus.” An unusual edge laced her voice, unexpected coming from her. “Control your boy, lest his tongue be your undoing.”

Someone get the popcorn.

Lord Graeus took the bait, snapping back. “Control my boy? Why, Nadja, that’s quite the statement coming from you, a woman that could not even control herself.”

Nadja’s teeth ground as Hekion’s head jerked up, fixing Lord Graeus’s son with a glare that could melt snow in the dead of winter. He got that from his mother. Though, it was interesting the subtext there, the way Theolan swallowed, ears consciously held still so as not to betray emotions.

“I should say, Graeus, that you are mightily bold for a man whose heir apparent is not even his.”

Alright, that was too far. Malaidor was all for cat fights when they tore apart each other’s politics, but her patience stretched when they took up valuable time squabbling about affairs. She had other things to get to, things that were more important than a vote on castle staff.

“That is enough.” A queen didn’t need to speak up to be heard, but, evidently, Lords Graeus and Nadja hadn’t learned that lesson.

The two of them kept up their bickering, more than content to transform it into a screaming match. Lovely, just lovely. A vein popped out of Lord Graeus’s forehead and his son had turned a rather impressive shade of red at the mention of his parentage. That was certainly the worst-kept secret in the entire court, though that was neither important nor appropriate to discuss at the moment.

Loud enough that all could hear, Malaidor repeated herself. “That is enough.”

Well, that certainly got everyone to fall silent.

Malaidor did not yell often. It was not befitting of a queen to rely on raising her voice, but, in some cases, situations called for it. This one certainly did. The sentiment didn’t stop the pang of guilt as attendants and guards alike flinched at her tone, eyes wide with terror. Not just the guards. A few members of the dynasties shrank into their seats, gazes fixed on their queen while their minds recounted what happened when monarchs needed to restore order. It wasn’t all that long ago that a screaming monarch was the preamble to a rash of executions.

The squabbling lords had snapped their mouths shut, attentions wholly fixed on her, an uncanny exactness in their eyes. Had she not known better, Malaidor would have felt that she had fallen into a trap.

“Please,” returning her voice to its normal, placid tone, Malaidor couldn’t help but wince at how it rasped, “that is more than enough. We are not children, bickering amongst ourselves over toys. Both of your statements were out of line. Please issue apologies to those involved like mature adults.”

“I apologize, Lord Graeus.” Nadja’s eyes still flicked to Malaidor, as if the queen were to strangle her herself. It was silly. Malaidor was not a strangler. “I did not mean to insult. My words were said in the heat of anger and I will endeavor to not repeat my error.”

Lord Graeus was less trustful of his queen, frown set deep enough that it added wrinkles to his face. “I apologize as well, Lord Nadja. I should not have been so rude. I will not repeat such statements in the future.”

“Thank you.” Motioning for the two of them to be seated, Malaidor turned her gaze to the boy. “Lord Theolan, have you anything to say?”

The gears in his brain were visibly spinning as he tried for the correct answer. “I apologize for my outburst, my Queen. I swear to you that it will never happen again, and I humble myself before you—”

Not the point. “Thank you, Lord Theolan, but I am not the person you should be apologizing to.”

That got the message across. As he opened his mouth to protest, his father smacked him upside the head, hissing quiet words into the boy’s ear. It really wasn’t necessary, in Malaidor’s opinion, but what did she know of child rearing. There was little she could do to stop Lord Graeus from disciplining his own heir, especially for such a severe mistake. Really, what had he been thinking? Had he been thinking at all?

Thoroughly mollified, Theolan turned to Hekion, cheeks burning redder. How did he manage to be so pink? Was it a medical condition? Could one die of blushing too much?

“I apologize for my actions.” It was as if she were making him eat shards of glass. “It was out of line, and I should not have said such cruel things. I understand that we are both adults and that we should act as such. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my foolishness.”

“Thank you for your apology.” Hekion spoke. His voice wasn’t what Malaidor had expected, really. Instead of the low rasp of his mother, his words were smooth and sonorous, the aftereffects of a lifetime practicing choral work. Interesting, very interesting. “I do hope that this will not taint our relationship. It is important for a court to run without error and fault, regardless of personal feelings.”

Smart boy. He had likely been fed that line, but smart boy nonetheless for sounding like he believed it.

“Thank you both. All may be seated.” They obliged her, Theolan’s eyes fixed firmly on his lap. “Now, may we please put this measure up to a vote? I believe we have dallied long enough. Dynasties in favor of passing the new employment guidelines?”

She raised her hand, watching as Nadja and Lord Graeus did the same, faces dark. Hm. Useful, if an argument would get them both in line, despite their personal feelings on the matter. The two of them were getting close, dangerously so, considering they had taken such pains to hide it. Hopefully there wouldn’t be another pregnancy announcement anytime soon. The two of them distilled into one child would haunt her nightmares for years to come.

“All against?” She heard herself say. No hands raised. “Any final objections?” Silence. “Good. This measure has passed. The palace will now institute more diverse hiring practices. Thank you all for your attendance to this meeting. I do hope you all have a nice day. Lord Nadja, congratulations again on the addition of your son.”

Goodbyes were said while Malaidor gathered up her things and smoothed down her skirt, standing. There were far too many other things on her schedule today, people to meet, hands to shake and babies to kiss. At least this evening she would have something exciting to tell Galengar, he always loved it when the nobles fought. Guard in tow, she set off, shoes clicking against the ornate tiled floors. As the doors closed behind her, the sound of a new argument breaking out graced her ears. Something to look forward to reading about later, she thought without much enthusiasm, something to look forward to.


	3. 1-3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While stuck in a horrendously boring meeting, King Galengar distracts himself and Hasion with a few questions.

It wasn’t fun being king. Shockingly enough, it was very, very not fun being king. Galengar’s long day started with getting dressed, a process that required the assistance of several people sworn to secrecy. Why? Because wearing comfortable clothing was untoward. Every morning, he let the royal stylist take the job he had been doing his entire life, pulling his hair into overly complicated braids. These days, he tried to avoid his face in the mirror. More and more, he was avoiding his face these days. It didn’t look like him, the person reflected, hair perfect, makeup done, clothes worth more than his entire savings.

That was another issue, the clothes. After much insisting, he had managed to convince the royal tailor to make things that were less restricting, less gaudy. Galengar had never hated feeling like a doll more in his life. Soon enough—and with enough insisting—clothes had become more flowing, loose enough that he could move without feeling like his chest was caving in. The doctor had, after all, forbidden him from flattening his chest anymore, so this helped obscure his form somewhat. Little things, little things. At least there wasn’t anything strenuous that needed his attention, usually.

Once he was dressed, Hastion would be at his door, ready to take his charge to his first meeting. Gods, Galengar felt guilty about that, about how readily he used his guard’s voice, had become accustomed to his presence. Of  _ course _ Hastion wouldn’t tell him “no” for anything. The man was far from a fool. One did not simply refuse the current reigning monarch; that was suicide.

Worry still churned in the bottom of his stomach. The terror in Hastion’s eyes had been chilling—the man fully believed Galengar was going to beat him—or worse. It made him sick, the very thought. He was  _ not _ that kind of person, would never be that kind of person. There wasn’t a single problem that would be resolved with beating the man who had so kindly assisted him without complaint for so long. Borrowing someone’s voice was no small favor, Galengar knew that well enough.

At least the guilt helped keep him sane. Every day in the palace was exactly the same, and today was no exception.

As he smiled and nodded through his morning meetings, taking notes to look through with his wife later, Galengar let his mind wander. Nothing important was going to be said right now, this gathering was more to give the noble families the illusion that they had some role in the decision-making process than anything concrete.

That they simply spoke over Galengar and addressed all questions directly to his guard, forgetting that the king could hear them perfectly well, had to be his least-favorite part of the ordeal, though.

On a happier note, the anniversary of Hastion’s position as captain of the guard was coming up soon, about to be thirteen months of guarding in just a couple of weeks when Daracaz ended. Galengar should do something nice for him, some cake and a party. It was the right thing to do. The only issue would be getting preferences out of the man. Training had emphasized how much he was to please his king, so any answer he got was the answer he thought his king wanted to hear. Hastion was maddeningly well-trained, despite Galengar’s best efforts.

‘Sair Hastion.’ He signed, not caring that he was interrupting a nobleman bragging about how his child had been admitted into the Academy of Magics, as if there was a doubt that the child would be taken in to begin with.

His guard blinked at him, voice hushed so as not to bother anyone. “Yes, my Lord?”

‘Sign with me,’ he couldn’t help the sly smile that crept onto his face, ‘you must find this meeting so boring.’

He paled, as if getting caught. ‘My lord I would never—’

‘It’s alright, I know nothing happens in them, so why don’t we entertain ourselves some.’

With great hesitancy, Hastion acquiesced, ducking his head and accepting his fate. Oh, how could Galengar help that his guard was so sweet like this. It took everything in him not to brush his hair out of his face, if only to see that pretty blush as he realized just how much his king…

His king… what. “Loved”? That couldn’t be the right word for it, not in millennia. “Lusted after” just made him sound like he neither cared nor wished to care about his partner. “Pined for”? Gods, that was sappy enough that Galengar could taste the sugar on his tongue. Hastion was simply a good man, a handsome man, a man with a pretty voice and strong hands and ears that betrayed his emotions every chance they got.

Outside of his mind, he was being spoken to.

‘Alright, my Lord, as you wish.’ Hastion’s signs were unsure and hesitant, out of practice and out of his element.

‘Just Galengar is fine, really.’ Now, to be clever with these questions. ‘I was wondering, do you have any allergies?’ Not clever, Gal. Not clever.

Hastion paled. ‘Er, no, m—Sir.’ He was getting much better at that, really. ‘May I ask why you are inquiring?’

‘Curiosity,’ replying as innocuously as he could, Galengar leaned back into his plush chair ‘I simply realized we do not speak frequently enough. Do you have any food preferences?’

A deep uncertainty wove its way through Hastion’s features. ‘I am not partial to chocolate, Sir.’

Important to know. Chocolate was right out, then. Poor Malaidor. ‘I see. What about vanilla or catrione extract? Do you like those?’

‘I would say I like catrione and vanilla, yes. Though catrione a bit more.’ Hastion chewed on his lip, eyes wandering down to his own hands. ‘Forgive my insolence, but I am afraid I can’t see why you are worrying yourself about this, Sir. Surely, there are more important things than your guard’s taste in flavors.’

‘Nonsense. We speak so rarely, and I seek to remedy— oh, look at Lord Akina. I think she’s going to lose her temper.’

Two pairs of eyes fixed on the Elven noblewoman as a vein bulged on her neck. She was angry, very angry. Let it not be said that these meetings couldn’t be fun at times. Everyone knew Akina was dealing with her anger with a therapist, issues only made worse by the change in leadership. More than anything, she despised Galengar and Malaidor, though for different reasons. One could find her preaching about how the queen was too soft on prisoners, the first to bring up Galengar’s less than ideal situation. Truly incredible was how she managed to blame him for the dissolution of her marriage.

The Elven Whore, as she had taken to calling him, seemed to have a great deal of power and influence, considering that her husband’s feet had been rather chilly at the wedding to begin with. Not that Galengar had gotten into anyone’s pants—he wouldn’t go for her husband, who was twice his age, mind you, if his life depended on it. At least Malaidor had managed to neuter any blackmail she’d had.

‘Looks like we’re about to have a show.’ No point in keeping the smile off of his face. Galengar would be blamed for this anyway, despite not saying a word.

Hastion was less excited, nerves clear on his face. ‘Would you like me to break it up, my L—Sir?’

‘Oh, there’s no need.’ Any moment now. ‘Lord Akina will burn herself out, look profoundly ashamed, blame me for whatever ails her, and then storm out.’

‘That is… oddly specific.’

Tipping his head up at Hastion, Galengar did his best to portray confusion. ‘You haven’t noticed how every general meeting goes? After that, everything goes back to normal, we do announcements, and then we all leave for our other duties. Speaking of which, we will need to stop at the library after this, I need a few books for something I’m working on.’

‘I… see, Sir.’

Well, it was odd, Galengar supposed. Not many would be bored enough to find patterns in how meetings went. Even odder was his change of course. Most days, after his scheduled meetings, Galengar would either retire to his chambers or go for a walk in the courtyard, always supervised by a guard. A stop at the library wasn’t a common occurrence, not that Hastion seemed to mind. It must have been intolerable for him, this monotony day in and day out.

Of course, Galengar wasn’t going to tell him what his project was about. There was a limit to trust, after all, and he didn’t fancy himself thrown out of the palace after another revolt.

“I have had  _ enough _ of this nonsense!” Lord Akina slammed her fist on the table, making those nearest to her flinch. “All you do is speak of drivel, Terioak. Why we must sit and listen to you speak more and more of your bastard child, I do not understand.”

What all the trouble was, Galengar couldn’t understand. In his opinion, it was decently brave of Terioak to keep his half-elf child, especially in Essren’s time. Yes, the king understood that Akina had become accustomed to being able to make digs at his expense whenever she wanted, but there had to be a limit.

Before he could say anything, though, Lord Edelai stood, the matriarch of a family far more powerful than the two of them. Interesting. It seemed the summer heat had gotten to all of them this week, tensions fraying under the onslaught.

“Lord Akina, please. Must we listen to  _ you _ , after all this time?” There was a dangerous edge to her voice. “A  _ century _ , you have sat here and repeated the same thing, over and over. This is a cordial meeting, meant for us to discuss our dealings and forge new alliances, not your personal podium. While I applaud our great King’s patience with you, mine has run out. Politely, shut up.”

Anger dripped from her voice like snow in the thaw and Akina shrank down into meltwater. Lord Edalai was not one to speak frequently, only updating the court on the barest essentials and nodding along as people spoke to her for whatever reason. An outburst like this was very out of the ordinary, especially in such a relaxed meeting.

Weather really played no small element in it, Galengar was sure. It was positively sweltering outside, the sun beaming down through the large windows to play across the curtains. Everything was hot, the palace rooms included. No relief could be found, and the great outdoors was even worse. Anything the arcanists synthesized was nowhere near enough, not for this heat wave. In however many years he’d lived here, Galengar had never seen a summer so unlivable. He was going to melt into a puddle; how was he expected to survive this?

Knocking on the table to get everyone’s attention, Galengar began to sign, Hastion repeating after him. The few that could understand sign watched their king, politely following along. ‘Lord Edalai, I understand this can be frustrating. It can feel quite aggravating, having the same conversations, month after month, and I’m sure the heat plays no small part in your frustration. However, let us all take a deep breath and calm down.’

Some of the anger ebbed out, face set in annoyance as she obliged him.

‘As for Lord Akina—if there is an issue with something, please, I implore you to bring it up. That  _ is _ the reason we have these meetings in the first place.’

The only emotion in her form was the twitch of her ear. “Of course, my King. Thank you for your patience and tolerance.”

‘Of course. Now, if anyone has any announcements, now would be the time to declare them.’ Galengar eased back in his seat, idly running his fingers along the wood of his armrest as everyone smoothed their ruffled feathers.

“I have something.” Terioak’s voice piped up, smile plain on his face. “I would like to announce my new engagement.”

Well. That certainly got everyone’s attention. Terioak hadn’t been on the market since his husband was executed decades ago, the very concept of him even  _ courting _ someone was inconceivable, never mind a marriage. No one had even heard word of him looking for a partner, not from noble stock, at least. Shocking, shocking and interesting.

Soldiering on, ignoring the way eyes widened in surprise, he let nothing stop him. “I’m sure you all have questions, but I am happy with my choice. We are currently planning the wedding and I am sure you will all receive invitations once we have fleshed it out more. I am confident he would love to meet you all once he is more settled in.”

Unexpected, especially the way he spoke of his new fiancé. There was an edge, one that rubbed Galengar the wrong way. It was almost certainly nothing, that or simply posturing, but he didn’t like it.

‘Congratulations.’ He put on as close to a genuine smile as he could, eyes crinkling. Terioak hadn’t had a good run recently; maybe this would be good for him. There had been rumors that his son had grown into a troubled child. ‘I hope you two will have a long and happy life together. If I may ask, what is his name?’

A look of surprise crossed Terioak’s face. “Oh! My apologies; I forgot completely. His name is Vakino, Vakino Tremlin.”

That was familiar. Why was that familiar. Galengar didn’t just  _ know _ random names that weren’t in the court. It couldn’t have been from the Northwest Territories and it definitely wasn’t from the palace… it wasn’t—

Reikyani. He had heard it in Reikyani.

The realization sent a chill down Galengar’s spine as he fought sudden nausea. A tremble worked its way into his hands as he kept his breathing relatively calm.

Vakino Tremlin, his mind informed him, dredging up memories he was far happier forgetting, had been an Elven man from the Norde that had been placed in his barrack. He’d had a partner when he was thrown into the camps and was convinced that she would lobby for his freedom. It had crushed his soul to find out she was the one to turn him in, enough that he didn’t eat, didn’t sleep for days.

He started out as a strong man, long, fair hair coming down around his waist in well-kept braids. His eyes had been clear and determined, shining with the very force of his personality. Last time Galengar saw him, Vakino had become a starved, silent man, clipped hair falling out in patches and growing back white. He had stopped speaking, stopped responding to words that were not orders. Their superiors had gotten to work hollowing him out, stripping him of all that made him such a vibrant companion.

The king had been silent for too long. People were beginning to stare.

‘A lovely name. I’m sure you two will be happy together.’ He forced his smile more while Hastion shifted, repeating the words with his eyes on his king.

“Thank you, my Lord.” Placation graced Terioak’s face, doing nothing to soothe Galengar. “If I may only have as pleasant a marriage as you.”

It was comedic, how Terioak acted as if nothing were wrong, telling jokes. With a silent chuckle, more to himself than anyone, Galengar inclined his head. He might as well try to remain in the present. ‘A marriage is only as pleasant as the parties’ conviction to make it so.’

That got a few nervous laughs, relieved that the topic had shifted. Despite his royal status, Galengar was not immune to rumors of how soulless his marriage must have been, tied to the stony-faced queen. They were wrong, of course. Just because they didn’t understand how to properly interpret Malaidor’s emotions didn’t mean she had none. Their marriage was perfectly happy, if crowded in with work. At least the two of them knew how to speak with one another effectively, which was better than most of the people gathered here.

He still couldn’t center himself. Dark thoughts stalked the corners of his mind, warnings and paranoia creeping across his skin like frost over the ground. No matter how many times he assured himself of his safety, his status, his protection, they were still there, whispering omens of ill fortune in ragged, raspy voices.

No one was going to drag him back, kicking and screaming, he had been promised that over and over again until some shred of himself believed it. His wife would fight tooth and nail for him, she would tear down the camps herself until her skin broke and her hands bled into the thirsty soil. He was safe here, even if the ground had not been satiated after year upon year of sacrifice.

And yet,  _ what if, what if, what if, _ still echoed in his mind, a distraction to end all distractions.

Outside his swirling thoughts, the conversation passed on, complete with his placid nodding and polite comments from him. A few years of meetings meant Galengar had polite listening down to a science, even when he wasn’t  _ really  _ listening. It was all the same conversation with different blanks filled in; something happened to someone, someone’s son was a “fan” of a sailor boy, someone’s daughter was going to this-or-that academy. It was nonsense, but it was comforting nonsense.

Soon enough, people were exchanging their goodbyes and wishing each other well, Hastion ready to walk Galengar to wherever he wanted to go. Though Galengar’s head was clearing some, fear ebbing away into all too familiar exhaustion, his guard’s form still held some trepidation, worry buzzing at his edges. Aw, he was concerned, how adorable and how unnecessary.

“Is there somewhere in particular you would like me to take you aside from the library, Sir?” His voice was hushed, just loud enough for his king to hear. “The Queen mentioned that a walk through the gardens might be nice.”

If Malaidor was suggesting his guard take him on walks, it meant that Galengar was spending too much time working. ‘Tomorrow, then, weather permitting. That is, unless my wife was intending to walk with me?’ Not likely, with all the meetings she had today.

Chewing on his lip, Hastion was the spitting image of mollified as they set out, striding through the busy halls of the palace to the library. “The Queen did not assert to anything of the sort, no, Sir.”

‘Right, then it would be best to go back to my chambers after I pick up my books. I have a few things that need doing, but, if I finish early, a walk may be nice.’ And then, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘Though the evening may be better. It’s a scorcher today, isn’t it?’

“Yes, Sir.” He sounded more like he was agreeing with Galengar to agree.

Keeping the conversation going, he smiled up at his guard, only a little jealous at how he was nearly a head taller than him. First his wife and now his guard—it seemed that Galengar was destined to a life of shortness. ‘Are you more partial to the summer or the winter?’

A blink was Hastion’s initial response as he tried to figure out the correct answer. “I have no preference in season.”

‘Really, though.’ With a friendly smile, Galengar gave him the most disbelieving look he could. ‘Everyone has at least one they hate.’

Hastion let a pause stretch before giving in, shame clear in his voice as his head hung. “I like summer, my King. My apologies for misleading you.”

The way he said it was like a man off to the gallows, cold bite of the axe already at his throat. Galengar could see his breath speed up, pulse racing as he did something so daring as voice an opinion. Gods, that was going to take a bit to unlearn.

‘I’m usually a fan of summer, too.’ The king said to no one that was looking. Wonderful.

Clearing his throat did nothing. It was taps on Hastion’s shoulder that got the man to glance at him, fear glinting in his dark eyes.

‘I said I like summers too, when the weather’s less sweltering, that is.’

“I see, Sir.” His voice sounded rough. “I apologize for the heat.”

Silent laughter bubbled up out of Galengar, spilling over his lips and cracking his grin wider. ‘Oh, I was not aware you had control over that. Make sure that, next winter, you heat up the air, like a nice day in Lictine. Please, don’t apologize for things you can’t control—I can hardly fault you for a sweltering day in Daracaz.’

A quiet chuckle, almost too faint to be heard, slipped out of Hastion’s mouth before he could stop it, his eyes widened in horror. He had laughed at the king. That had been a death sentence in decades past, centuries past. One clearly wanted a rolling head if one even so much as giggled in the king’s presence. This was a level of disrespect formerly unheard of. Good, they needed more disrespect around here, it was beginning to get stifling.

‘It’s good to know you can laugh,’ Galengar kept up his easy smile, leaning into Hastion’s personal space a bit, ‘I was beginning to think I would have to juggle fruits to see you crack a smile.’

His mouth opened in a small, surprised sound, hands clasped tight in front of him. A blush crept up his cheeks, tinging his ears a faint pink. He really did look handsome in most anything, his ashy, tawny skin contrasting nicely with short black hair, tidily combed back. Even his uniform, a deep blue with gold accents, flattered him, highlighting his fit figure while obscuring any imperfections he had. It really was incredible how put-together he managed to look at all times.

“Thank you, Sir.” When he spoke, it was in a hushed tone, as if he were afraid the words would burn up in his mouth the moment someone else heard them. “For caring about those in your employ, that is.” The latter half was said in a rush, as if to smooth over any offense.

Galengar shook his head. ‘Sair Hastion, of course I care. Every day, you protect me from Gods only know what, it’s only fair that I make it pleasant.’

“Please, do not feel obliged.” He paused. “I was not aware you worship the Gods, please forgive any insult.”

‘You’ve given me none.’

The arches of the library loomed before them, conversation dropping as Galengar passed inside, being greeted by the head librarian as she worked through processing a stack of new books. It still made him sick when people bowed to him, even when he had asked them to stop, but he would have to live through this. A few signs later, books were deposited into his arms, thick and heavy, a comforting weight. Thank yous were exchanged and the two were off, Galengar insisting on carrying things, despite how it silenced him. Really, he could do one thing for himself.

As they neared the door to Galengar’s chambers, dread started to pool in his chest. Too many things littered his desk to be reasonable. At least there wouldn’t be too much in the way of official duties… just everything else.

Well, his project was far more satisfying than any of his official duties, he could give it that.

Instead of poring over document upon document, searching for an inconsistency with the math or running the numbers on which programs the kingdom could afford to add to the quickly-expanding list Malaidor had insisted on, Galengar was leafing through files and hunting down people his predecessor would have preferred remained forgotten, offering the crown’s support to those he could get into contact with. Survivors of the ‘kyanis were not known for their naivete or willingness to trust anything to come from the crown.

He could understand that, he really could. Not many people wanted to interact with a government that had formerly shipped them off to be worked to death or brainwashed, even if the leadership had changed. Galengar certainly had his reserves about staying in Dalitar, never mind becoming king. The terror he had lived under before meeting Malaidor had been a constant in his life and awfully hard to forget.

That being said, this  _ was _ a new administration, despite how quickly people forgot, and they had been tasked with resolving the faults of the previous one. The two of them had a duty to at least try, and if it meant leafing through document upon document that had previously been marked to be destroyed, then that was what Galengar was going to be doing as often as possible, working through the night to give at least one person slightly more peace of mind.

Without a word, Hastion opened the door for him, hesitating on the threshold as if he were unsure whether or not he was allowed inside. A pang ran through Galengar’s heart. He was a good guard, really. He was a good guard and he deserved more than what he was getting, afraid to even step into his charge’s quarters for some pleasant conversation.

Who could fault him, though? Galengar knew the rules for being a guard, better than most and, no matter how much Malaidor worked to change them, there would always be people to insist on the old way.

Even still, Galengar couldn’t invite him in. Not tonight. Not with what he was planning on doing. It was best for as little prying eyes to see this as possible—it was so hard to tell where loyalties lay these days, people knew better than to declare their undying support of Essren. Wishing him a good night with one hand, Galengar stepped into his chambers, leaving Hastion on the other side of the door.

Despite the lingering guilt, he had no issue setting up his work for the day, arranging his books as he would likely need them. It had been a mercy how no one noticed the contexts of his reading, memoirs of people from the camps. They would help, not much, but every little bit counted. As promised, a fresh binder of paperwork had been delivered to his room, files that had escaped Essren’s fires.

Nowadays, these were worth their weight in gold, more valuable than the lists of names survivors of the camps memorized. It was the tradition to recall as many people as possible. How else would their friends, their families, know where they were? If there was a chance of them returning? Traditions were important to keep, even if one couldn’t do anything to help.

Ignoring the names that echoed in the back of his mind in a constant refrain, Galengar retrieved his own notebook and got to cracking. The brunt of it would be matching names to camps, at least, in the beginning. Then, he would do his very best to match names to death records, names to locations. He had to build whole people out of ink and parchment with only the notes of a man who hated them with a burning passion, pun not intended, to go off of. It was a mostly thankless job, but there was nothing else Galengar wanted to be doing.

So, as he did every night, he buried himself in his names. Syllables that had been transliterated into Higherspeak were the worst to mangle out, twisting and turning into themselves enough to obscure the original one. Those from the Northwest Territories were easy enough for him to parse out, though, as the person’s homeland drifted south, the pronunciation just faded more and more.

A knock at the door came in the middle of it all. Galengar had been tracing the last reported home of the family of a human woman sent to Hevekyani for birthing a child with a Humanish man. That was a death sentence, Hevekyani. No, he wasn’t going to dwell on her fate right now, not when he had a visitor.

Closing his book and the binder, he did his best to obscure the nature of his work, replacing it with tax documents and economic reports. Finances were an excellent disguise, if someone had the bravery to actually look at his desk, especially considering he was the mathematical branch of the royal family. Malaidor had never been adept at numbers, the thought brought a smile to his face.

He swung the door open to reveal Terioak, still dressed in his finery from the meeting, pleasant expression on his face unchanged. Galengar dimly heard Hastion announce him over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. There was something behind that faint smile, something threatening and dangerous. This was how Galengar was to die, this was the end of all. Secrets had to end somewhere, didn’t they?

Fixing an expression he had been informed was polite neutrality onto his face, Galengar signed some pleasantries that Hastion dutifully repeated, the doorframe a barrier between them.

“Oh, I’m well, thank you, my King.” Terioak’s voice was smooth and calm, as if Galengar would overlook the implications of a visit to his king’s personal chambers. “I just had a few inquiries after the last meeting, if I may come in—if you aren’t busy, that is.”

Thank every single god, large and small, known and forgotten, he had an excuse to decline. After all, Hastion had seen how busy Galengar was. ‘My apologies, Lord, but I have some duties to attend to. Another time, though. It would be a pleasure to speak later. If your questions are time-sensitive, feel free to send a courier with a message so that I might reply when I have a free moment.’

He swore he could hear the squeaking of Teroiak’s teeth. “Of course, thank you for your time, my King.”

Terioak bowed politely as he excused himself, soft shoes nearly silent as he moved. Hm. He was going to remember that.

Doing his best to calm himself, Galengar watched as Terioak turned the corner and disappeared. A swell of relief rose in his chest. No one would dare question the king, not even if they felt he had no right to be king, and, for that, he could be thankful. The royal couple had split their duties in more ways than one. Where Galengar found people and gave out reparations, Malaidor kept up their image with strategic visits to this or that play, commemorating this or that statue. Really, she was quite good at it.

It hurt him to put more work on his wife’s plate, but she was going to have to keep an eye on Terioak. He was not known for his familial power, but this blackmail would poke more than a few holes in their plans. Malaidor fussed less with appearances and more safety, it was just how she was. The last thing she wanted was to endanger her husband, to make him a target.

And here he was, putting himself in danger. With a soft sigh, Galengar turned to his guard.

‘Sair Hastion,’ his hands moved without much input from him, ‘please, would you like to come in?’

“I-I wouldn’t want to overstep.” Surprise ran through his guard’s words like a thread through a seam. What must this look like to him, his charge being discreetly threatened and doing nothing to defend his honor. It was a joke.

Dark grey eyes met charcoal black. ‘I wouldn’t call it overstepping if I’m inviting you. You could help me stay focused on my work, if you like.’

A pause hung in the air while he thought, words and ideas and propriety turning over in his head in one big soup. One of these days, he was going to bite right through his lip with that chewing habit, Galengar was certain of it.

Only minutes later, though, Hastion was passing through the doorframe into a place once forbidden to those not gracing the king’s bed. He was tense, yes—the thought of a punishment still hung heavy in the man’s head, despite his king’s best efforts—but no more tense as always, sitting obediently wherever his king gestured as Galengar tried to figure out something less treasonous that he would need help with.

Well, his wife  _ had _ asked him to look at a series of plays to figure out which ones they should make appearances at. Yes, that was innocuous enough, with the added benefit of relieving her of some stress. Little things piled atop each other here and there, like stones plugging a river.

Lighting his face with a friendly smile, Galengar sat down in his chair and took out the folder Malaidor had sent to him, skimming over titles he had no loyalties to.

‘So, Sair Hastion, what do you know of plays?’


	4. 1 - Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's quite wise not to trust the royal family, all things considered. Even under the cover of night, old habits die hard.

The only time they could properly meet was after dark. It wasn’t as if the two of them were doing anything untoward, though the tabloids would simply have a field day with this information. Gracious as ever, Nadja and Graeus had spared them the trouble of painting their faces across the papers for all to see, speculating on an affair that was certainly not happening. They were co-conspirators, not idiots, after all.

It had been quite easy, almost deceptively so. No one questioned the nice Humanish couple that had wanted to buy a house on the outskirts of the city, recently donated by a certain Lord Nadja to be given to species unable to get a foothold in the city proper. Dalitar was not a place known for its low property values, everyone knew that. Her family had called her a fool for her little charity, but here she was, with a house that she could visit without arousing suspicion and a fairly good disguise to visit it in. Far better than what her daughter was doing, frolicking around the city on the arms of random people like no one would know her face.

Unlocking the door with her key—legally obtained, she  _ was _ the property owner, after all—Nadja sighed as she entered. The house was a small thing, much smaller than what she had been used to when she bought it. Only two stories, the exterior was a plain pale green, blending into the style of the city. Inside, the foyer was decorated innocuously, paintings just generic enough to be forgettable, dancing the line of not being basic enough to arouse suspicion.

By all appearances, it was a summer home for a wealthy Humanish family, used throughout the year by more distant relations. A perfect cover story. It would just be so unseemly to ask a Humanish person to remove their veils, tantamount to asking them to strip naked in the middle of the street. No one would be so bold, not in this day and age.

The only issue, as it always was with these things, was keeping her family from finding out about her little home away from home. Humanish paraphernalia was even more damning, though it could just as easily be explained away by a lover leaving it in her chambers as being in her possession. While Nadja was not known for her refined taste—a blessing in times like these—it would be unthinkable to consider her traipsing around, pretending to be a Humanish woman.

Footsteps behind her would have been dangerous had Nadja not been expecting her partner in crime. They stopped, no doubt trying to see her form though the dark, parse out friend from foe. Chances are no one would be throwing them in prison, not with this administration, not for this, but old habits died screaming and crying, pleading for another chance.

“Hello, dear.” Her voice carried across the entryway.

Those footsteps resumed as Graeus sped up, tailing her into the house. The less time spent in the view of others the better. “Hello, bane of my existence.”

How could she not smile at that. “I missed you, too, idiot. Put the kettle on, will you? There should still be some tea from last time.”

A grunt signaled his acquiescence as he passed deeper into the house. Nadja set to locking up tight, setting all the alarms. Bells at the doors and windows were still intact and functional, different types producing different sounds for the two floors. Everything that could be locked was locked thrice over, curtains drawn against windows. Lanterns were lit in random rooms, taking the attention off of the two of them when they were to move downstairs to speak. Hot tea and snacks, even on a sweltering summer night, was always calming. One final check marked them as safe, or, well, as safe as they would get provided the circumstances.

Nadja took off her veil as she stepped into the kitchen, taking a seat at the little dining table they had set up in there. With a house this small, it would be unreasonable to expect a separate dining room. The water had been brought to a boil and poured, two slowly-cooling cups resting on the table as Graeus scrounged around for anything they had left. A sniff told Nadja just what kind of tea it was.

Wrinkling her nose, she shot Graeus a glare. “Must you really use this blend? It was awful enough when you got it the first time, but age has done it absolutely no favors.”

“You are  _ such _ a spoiled thing, Nadj.” He turned, setting his own cup down and removing his veil. “This is a delicacy from the Sand Wastes and was nearly impossible to obtain at the time. You might as well enjoy it.”

“I will never understand how you risked death for something that both smells and tastes like bitter roots.” Well, that was a bit wrong. When he mixed milk and honey into it, the damn thing was actually palatable. The only issue was getting milk and honey without being too suspicious.

A smile crossed his face. “Bitter roots taste like bitter roots, what a concept. No cream tonight, but I put some honey in. I wasn’t able to get to the manor kitchens.”

Getting out had always been the hardest part of this entire ordeal. If things went missing here and there, who would notice—more so, who would blame the family leaders? No, it was sneaking out of the house in this garb without being caught. Everything would be incriminating. Dangerous. Trust was a tentative thing, and Nadja knew that her family would be more than happy to put someone more professional, more traditional at her seat. Graeus would have even less leeway.

“That’s alright, I can’t fault you for your stealthlessness. It seems as though I’m stealing biscuits out of my house next time.” She paused, retrieving a tin of biscuits from her back with a grin. “Again.”

A quiet chuckle slipped out of the man’s mouth, ribbing born out of equal parts stress and fondness. He took a cookie, far more informal than he put on around other nobles. That was his greatest asset, his propriety. No one would ever suspect him of treason, with all the airs he put on, snooty and dignified to a fault. Snooty and dignified elves didn’t dress up as a species born out of promiscuity to meet up and speak about things that would get their head placed on the chopping block in the dead of night.

“Bold of you, with your son.” Genuine respect eased into his voice. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that.”

She shook her head. “My family fought me the entire way. It was a surprise to all but him.”

“You’re kidding.”

Her lips curled up in a smile. “You only wish my jokes were so scandalous. You would not believe the way my sister screamed—I was sure she was going to break a window this time.”

Graeus hid his grin in his teacup. “The songbird of the Seli’in dynasty certainly has a voice to behold.”

“The songbird of the Seli’in dynasty will be the death of me.” Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Nadja sighed. “On a less happy note, I heard the king brought his guard back to his personal chambers this week.”

Graeus’s face fell into a somber line. “Oh.”

“Oh indeed.”

Extrapolating on what had happened was useless, that lesson had been hard learned after decade upon decade. The situation was clear enough. They could reach out to the poor man, if they dared risk the repercussions. The palace brainwashed their guards something fierce when they took them on, a nasty holdover from Essren’s time. Why it hadn’t been changed yet was beyond Nadja.

There were some rumblings that the royals were seeking to change it, but after this? Nadja could rest assured that no positive outcome would come from the Elven Queen or her husband tampering in what they taught their employees. Fear was a drug, others’ more so.

She had such high hopes for the new king, and this was Nadja’s reward. At least the poor man hadn’t seemed too hurt during their latest meeting, though he seemed to be the stoic type, not that an absence of emotion meant anything. Plenty of people could act like nothing at all was happening. Someone was going to have to reach out to Hastion, see if he was truly alright. It wouldn’t do to let something like this fester, to let him think he was alone in his suffering.

“I can speak with him, see if anything happened.” Graeus suggested it before she could, thoughts following the same rabbit down its hole. “You have the busier schedule, with all of the magazines and visits with your son. I wouldn’t mind. Introducing legislation to limit that would be on your head, though.”

Sometimes, so sparingly, he could be thoughtful.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would call you kind.” A slow smile slipped onto her face. “Even if the Queen won’t do anything about it.”

He snorted, avoiding her eyes. “Don’t hold your breath. Think of how bad it would look if you started coming onto the king’s personal guard. I could at least pose it as scoping out a weakness and put the thought of distancing him in her head.”

And yet, the smile stayed. “Kind and cruel, you manipulative bastard. How talented.”

A sharp exhale was his only answer, a poorly disguised laugh. Quiet spread between them like clouds across the moon, companionable as the wind rustled the leaves outside. Drinks were taken from teacups, biscuits eaten. No shame in being hungry, none at all. A moment stretched into a minute, a minute a while.

“Nadja?” Graeus’s voice was quiet, as if he were afraid to be heard over the trees.

“Yes?”

“What if we were wrong?”

She didn’t like the way his voice shook slightly, a memory of nights spent quietly shaking and crying, listening for the sound of clinking weapons and boots in the grass. No. It wouldn’t do to think of those times, to remember the way the closet walls closed in on them, Nadja’s hand firmly over Graeus’s mouth as he wept freely in fear. Damn those midnight gardeners.

Calmness ran through her voice, something Graeus could hold onto. “Wrong about Hastion?”

His mouth set in a hard line. “About all of this resistance nonsense. Thirty years and a coup and nothing has changed. Nothing  _ real _ .”

“I think you’re being pessimistic.” Wrapping her fingers around his, Nadja gave Graeus’s hand a gentle squeeze. “And deluded. The borders opening? The camps being dissolved? That I could introduce a bastard son to the court and the Queen accepted him without a second thought? I’d call that progress. Slow doesn’t mean nothing’s happening and this administration at least puts their money where their mouth is.”

“But the nobles—”

“Are complete and utter imbeciles, us included.” She let out a chuckle. “It’s been the higher-ranking noble families that have been shooting ideas down, you know this. Queen Malaidor’s trying, and we have to give her a chance.”

A nod, farther from panic.

“Do you think she actually drinks the blood of infants?” Humor was an excellent sign.

Nadja rolled her eyes at his attempt at a joke as she always did, the corners of her lips drifting up despite her best efforts. “Well,  _ I _ certainly haven’t seen her, but I’ll be the first to let you know if her wine looks too thick.”

That got a proper laugh out of him, the sound the result of decades of work. “You’re right, you’re right. Her teeth aren’t stained enough for it.” His words died off, fleeting mirth fading. “There’s stirrings in the home faction, if you hadn’t heard.”

“Are there?” Stirrings could go either way, these days.

More nodding. “There was a change in prominent leadership. Lord Terioak looks to be rising up through the ranks since his declaration of marriage.”

“Terioak?” Nadja couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her lips. “His family has next to nothing, why would they make  _ him _ the face? It makes next to no sense, Graeus.”

“His husband-to-be is from Reikyani. That’s why.”

The world seemed to stop for a moment. Nausea churned in Nadja’s stomach. “He isn’t.”

“He is.” Graeus’s shoulders inched ever forward. “He is.”

“Ignoring the sheer cost it would be to have someone from Reikyani…” Nausea built up in her stomach. “It isn’t as if the administration is granting graduates to nobles anymore.”

He simply shook his dead. “I don’t know. I well and truly don’t, but it still fills me with worry.”

Throwing propriety aside, Nadja ran a hand through her hair. “We mustn’t forget how this is still better than it was before. The king may be using his guard and a new graduate of Reikyani has entered the equation, but that is still less than there were previously. We just need more information.”

Annoyance bit at his words. “We’ve needed more information for the past three decades.”

“And we’ve gotten more in the past two years than every previous year combined. People are coming out of the woodwork, just you wait. We’ll get what we need in due time.” She tried for comforting, pushing the biscuit tin closer to him. “Don’t forget, clandestine meetings aren’t an automatic death sentence now. There isn’t a curfew, and there aren’t forbidden topics. I would say that’s at least a little better.”

Her friend obliged her, taking a cookie, if only to hold. “A little better, and I will hold you to that, Nadja.”

When they laughed, it was to relieve stress more than anything. Nadja couldn’t help but shake her head at it all. When had she begun to think of Graeus as a friend instead of a rival she had begrudgingly worked with, when had he become a trusted confidant? What else had happened when she wasn’t looking?

It was a joke, how easily she accepted his condolences, his assistance. He had been more than kind during her pregnancy, sneaking her medications to help with the morning sickness and underclothes to hide her swelling belly. Ha. It had been Graeus who had helped her smuggle the child away to a family that would care for him, Graeus who had helped her meet with them in secret. No one would ever believe her if she spoke on it, not if the world ended in fires and floods.

“I’ll see what I can hear.” Was what she said instead. “About Terioak’s husband.”

The gratitude in his voice was genuine. “Thank you, really.”

Bittersweet. Tonight tasted bittersweet. “Think nothing of it. Now, why don’t you tell me what Lord Parraille was going on about in the last meeting? I swear to the Destroyer, every time they open their mouth it makes even less sense. If I hadn’t known them, I would worry about a cognitive decline coming sooner rather than later.”

With a chuckle, Graeus did, words tumbling out of his mouth like he was relieved to have a distraction. He was, Nadja knew him well enough that relieved was too weak a word. The man was not keen on worry, despite how readily the feeling took him. Spirals of anxiety, sentences said without heed to who was on the other end were common to him, common enough that he had a standing invitation to Nadja’s office, disguised as meetings between powerful families, of course. The dynasties needed to work together, needed to unite to bring peace.

Needed to keep an eye on their members and on the remaining Oridions. All two of them. Loose cannons, the lot. If the last two centuries had taught them anything, loose cannons were incredibly undesirable in leadership positions, incredibly undesirable indeed. Distracting the crown with mindless bickering and offers for the dauphin would give Nadja and Graeus enough time to react and act, even if the families in question were unaware of how easily they were being used.

That was the price paid, gladly and without question. Above all else, they needed peace. They needed reform, and Nadja was going to achieve that, even if it killed her. Even if it killed them all.


	5. 1-4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastion has a no-good, very bad day, though his king does try his best to make it better.

“Taryn, could you please tell me why your report isn’t in?” Cringing at how tired he sounded, Hastion let a sigh creep into his voice, eyes on his paperwork. “This is the second week in a row you haven’t submitted anything.”

Silence marked Taryn’s answer. Wonderful. Hastion was having a wonderful day, thank you for asking, everything was going great and he just felt so alive, not sleeping for the last three nights.

These weekly meetings were what made him regret his promotion. Well, at least one of the things. They were insufferable—and not because he had to wake up at the crack of dawn and leaf through all of the reports he had put off to the last minute. No, it was the reactions of his fellow guards when they were all called in to debrief what the major issues had been since they last met.

It was the palace’s worst-kept secret how most of the older guards disliked Hastion. Between his inexperience and youth, many found him either useless or a plant or both, a one-way whisperer right into the king’s ear. As if he was  _ actually _ trusted by a single member in the royal family. He didn’t care what people thought of him—he was hardly a child straining for the approval of his peers—but when that disdain morphed into disobedience, then problems took root.

“Taryn.” Less forgiving this time, Hastion set his papers down on the table in front of him. “You leave me no choice but to put this down as a demerit.”

That got him a scowl. Even better.

Part of the old guard, Taryn was far from Hastion’s biggest supporter, but such outright disrespect was new. Every day, more and more people turned further against him—it was in the little things: impulses and expressions that they thought he wouldn’t notice, reports submitted late, jobs done halfheartedly. Hastion hadn’t been hired for his obliviousness.

Despite himself, he could feel his patience wearing thin. He hadn’t asked for this job; the surprise promotion had appeared in the form of a messenger at his door, congratulating one Captain Hastion and bringing an advance payment. For an entire month. He damn near fainted at the amount, tallying it and retallying it until numbers swam through his head like fish in a river. Four months in, though, and he understood why the pay had been so high. No one in their right mind would keep at this job.

His predecessor quitting so suddenly should have been an omen, really. Why the royal family hadn’t just selected a member from the old guard to be the new captain, he didn’t understand. Well… no. That was a lie; he knew full well why not. Queen Malaidor, polite as she seemed to him, was far from the darling of the guards, her husband even less so. Rumors were powerful things and, when ones circulated about budget cuts or past actions, belief ran strong, even when nothing of the sort materialized. With an older guard sitting as captain, they would be assured of one thing: a knife in their backs.

Shifting in his seat, Taryn crossed his arms, doing his best to exude a confidence that was more swagger than anything else. “I’ll get the report in when I get it in.”

Was it too late for Hastion to just walk out and go to sleep in his bed? Yes, unfortunately. Eyes turned to him, awaiting his reaction. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Never in his life would he have been called short tempered. Hastion was calm to a fault, as laid back and easygoing as a person could be—no small number of people had taken advantage of that. These days, though, that patience was being sorely tested.

“Taryn, please understand that this rudeness  _ will _ be earning you a demerit.” Keeping his voice steady, he did his best to ignore the first stirrings of a headache. It wouldn’t fade until he passed out in his bed tonight, fully clothed and exhausted, he knew that well enough.

With a snort, Taryn leaned into Hastion’s space, daring. “And what will that do to me? Hm?” Patience was a virtue. “Let’s be realistic here, dear Captain; you aren’t equipped to do this, so you might as well quit and let someone qualified lead the guards. I’m sure our  _ king _ —” he spat the word, “would have no fault with that.

Hastion blinked. How—How  _ dare _ he. His blood was boiling in his veins, jaw set hard.

“Taryn, please leave. You are finished for the day.” His voice was practiced and perfect, calm but firm. The voice of a captain containing a burning rage.

Sputtering never looked good on Taryn, his face turning a rather unpleasant shade of red as he managed to spit out his words. “ _ What _ .”

“Oh, then let me repeat myself, in that case.” Pretend he never said anything, give him the chance to apologize, that was what his Mom always told him to do. Second chances and all that. “You have been dismissed for the day. You may retire to your quarters.”

“You insolent little shit.”

Second chances never did his Mom any good, especially not when his brother put a knife through her throat.

Taryn’s rage was far less traumatizing, though, as a testament to the greatness of his incompetence, did not approach entertaining. “You can’t  _ dismiss _ me, kid. I should have been your superior officer—I  _ would _ have been, had you not been the king’s pet.”

Hastion didn’t flinch, not even as that last word was spat at him with enough vitriol to bruise and enough saliva to splatter. He’d had enough time to come to terms with it, and if Taryn thought that assisting a royal for their day was demeaning… well… then Hastion could guess as to why he hadn’t been promoted in the past five years.

“Don’t act all high and mighty. It’s common knowledge what you are.” He slammed his hands into the table as he rose, a senseless attempt at intimidation. “You only have your position because you suck dick prettily, so I think it’s time you let someone who knows what they’re doing take the reins instead of nodding along to whatever your useless master says. Maybe we could have some  _ real _ change, then.”

Unflappable, Hastion’s gaze was almost bored. He’d been called so much worse, especially when he was sucking dick for a living. “I’ll make sure to bring it up when I next speak with His Majesty—though I recommend that you not think of how prettily I suck dick, considering I am still you superior.” With a polite smile, he continued. “Unfortunately, Taryn, it appears that we no longer need your services. Your contract has been terminated due to a violation of Section 4 Clause 10 Paragraph 7. Thank you for all you have given us, and best of luck with your new employment.”

Mouths dropped open at that. No one had been fired in years—people had forgotten that he had the authority to even do that. Well, wasn’t it fortunate how he read up on his duties and the contracts he signed. Yes, there was going to be so much paperwork for this, but it was far preferable to dealing with Taryn until he fucked up and tried to kiss a noble. Again. More for his desk, less for his stress. At least his king would back him up on this. King Galengar had always trusted his judgement before.

Taryn had frozen, gaping at him like a fish on land. “You didn’t—”

“I did.” He blinked at the other man, innocence trained and practiced. “I trust you know the way out, though I’m sure an escort can be arranged if you’ve forgotten already.”

Dark blue eyes tried to set Hastion alight.

“No.” Taryn ground out. “Thank you.”

The flash of his knife was expected, less so was how clumsy his form was. Stepping back, Hastion knocked Taryn’s hand aside easily, the blade gleaming in the air. Calm as ever, he forced Taryn’s grip open, the knife dropping onto the ground with a loud clatter. Silence descended as every eye in the room was on them, watching what would come next. Well, it wasn’t as if Hastion had much of a choice anymore.

“Go home, Taryn. Keep your dignity intact before the king’s pet kicks your ass.” Hastion’s fingers were going to leave little bruises in Taryn’s hand to remember him by.

The man jerked out of his grasp, teeth clenched so tight he risked cracking a molar. Without a word, he picked up his things, making sure to move with as much malice as possible. Fine. Who cared. As Hastion picked up the knife, a standard issue dagger about as long as his hand, he found that people were still staring, wide-eyed.

He forced a smile as he cleared his throat, dead set on finishing this Destroyer-forsaken briefing. He hardly heard anything past the dull ache in his head, slowly morphing into a migraine as he explained new objectives, tweaked schedules, and fielded questions from people ready to at least pretend to work with him. Lapses in security spelled the end for all of them—it only took one noble getting hurt. Or worse—the very thought of a dynasty member getting injured was a nightmare. The last time that happened, every single guard on duty at the time had been executed. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a repeat of that.

As the questions dried up and Hastion was freed to go about his duties, no one stopped him, no one even looked him in the eye. Apparently, enforcing a code that had been in place for the past millennium was a step too far. How bold of Hastion to… fire a man insulting both his superior officer and his king. This surely wouldn’t fly anywhere.

His own footsteps bounced around his skull the entire walk to the king’s chambers. The only thing he could look forward to today was actually being able to sleep, it seemed. He’d had too many late nights recently, that’s what his body was telling him. Too many times had he sat at his desk by arcane stonelight, catching up on all the reports he needed to process, to submit. Even in his dreams, he did paperwork, hunched over so much his back ached.

Surely, he greeted his king with the proper politeness. ‘Surely’, because Hastion remembered nothing of the journey to his king’s meetings for the day, speaking when signed to, dutifully repeating his liege’s words without processing a single syllable that dropped out of his mouth. He spoke, he guarded, he made small talk about nothing in particular at his king’s request. What a well-trained dog he was. His king would tell him to jump, and Hastion would jump at the exact height he was wanted at. The joke of the palace.

‘Sair Hastion?’

Right. Attending to his king as he led him back to his chambers.

Putting a smile on his face, Hastion did his best to exude submissive politeness while also being able to see what his king was saying. It was taking him a bit longer than it should have to get into that habit. Just another thing that was wrong with him, it seemed.

“Yes, Sir?” At least that was one thing he had taken to heart. A week, and he had only slipped up his king’s preferred means of address once. Twice. Three times, but he corrected himself quickly.

When he dared look, there was concern on his king’s face. ‘I heard tell that you dismissed Sair Taryn this morning.’

Ah. News travelled fast. Too fast.

“I did, Sir. He was displaying insubordination and being disrespectful to your Lordship, so I felt it prudent to dismiss him, Sir.” Little omittances never hurt anyone and Hastion wasn’t rather keen to rehash the more explicit disrespect.

‘I see. I trust you will submit a formal write up? You have me all curious, now.’

An attempt at humor. King Galengar liked it when Hastion laughed, for some reason. It was odd—weird even—for a king to be so invested in making sure his guard was happy, but who was Hastion to shame him. He was his king, after all.

That, and little things flipped in his stomach every time his king smiled at him, a joke clear in his eyes as he said something in a sarcastic, deadpan tone to wring a chuckle out of his guard. Had Hastion been a stronger man, he would have regretted chuckling in front of his Master, especially with how hard he was now trying to make it happen again. Tragically, his constitution was not nearly so strong, a deep pleasure bubbling up in him whenever he made the king smile.

“Of course, Sir. I am sure it will be on your desk by tomorrow at the latest.” He was not remiss to the way his king was momentarily distracted by a thought before focusing back in on the conversation, cheeks coloring a smidgeon darker before returning to their usual fairness. “I also have the curriculum for the guards, as you requested. My apologies for it taking so long.”

That smile was brighter than any of the enchanted stones that lit the palace. Hastion was undeserving of it, undeserving by leaps and bounds. All this attention wasted on him, couldn’t his king see that anyone else would have been better?

‘Thank you, Sair Hastion. It is so kind of you to have done this so quickly.’

The tips of his ears threatened to redden. “It was no problem at all, Sir.”

Too soon, that damned door was coming into view, his Master’s chambers ending the walk. At least he would have a quiet few hours to stew in his headache, dutifully standing outside his Lord’s door and pretending he wasn’t tempted to take a peek inside. One of these days, he was going to fall asleep at his post.

‘Would you like to come in?’ The question came after a spot of hesitation, as if his king were unsure of how it would be received.

Hastion could almost laugh. Almost. Did his king think he needed to watch over his guard now? It wasn’t as if Hastion were to disappear into thin air or break down crying and screaming if he wasn’t being watched. Coming into his king’s chambers would be unseemly. One simply didn’t walk into their Lord’s quarters without good reason, even if they were invited in. That would only spell illness for his reputation. There were only two reasons to come inside, neither of them favorable.

Well, if that was what his king wanted…

Bowing his head, Hastion lowered his gaze to the floor, the picture of politeness. “If it is what your Lordship desires.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his king frown. He glanced up, just enough to see his signing. ‘I wouldn’t take offense if you wouldn’t like to, you know.’

Wrong answer. He was on a roll today. “My king is too merciful.”

At his king’s insistence, Hastion crossed the threshold. Glancing around, he couldn’t help but be awed by the splendor around him.

The king’s chambers were truly grand, he could see that now that he wasn’t having a panic attack. The walls had been painted in the Oridion dynasty’s colors, a light blue with gold leaf decals curling around the edges of windows and doors. Richly colored carpets lay across the floor, expensive enough that Hastion hesitated to step on them. They were probably worth more than everything his family had ever owned put together.

A half-closed door led to the bedroom, another to the bathroom, yet another to an office. Parted gossamer curtains—their heavy, dark blue counterparts drawn back for summer—let sunlight stream in, a breeze rocking the silky fabric. Even in the dog days of summer, the royal quarters were still tolerably cool, far better than Hastion’s own chambers. Though the captain of the guard, he was afforded a much smaller living area than his king.

He was led into the office, an airy room with the windows already opened. Calmly, as if Hastion wasn’t there to bother him, King Galengar took a seat at a desk so crowded by papers and binders that Hastion was unsure of how he could find anything to begin with.

From the open windows, the scent of blooming flowers drifting in from the garden on the wind. Taking a deep breath, Hastion felt ease creep into his mind, taking solace in the familiar smell of Dalitar in the fog of summer. There wasn’t much that could change the way a city smelled, not even on the palace grounds.

‘Please, sit.’ His king was saying, gesturing to a plush chair, as if they were equals.

Obedient as ever, Hastion obliged him, trying to tune out the way his brain fussed and fawned over the ornate decals on the chair, letting him know that, if he stained it, it would be coming out of his paycheck for months.

Hidden away in his chambers, the king seemed to relax some. He was only performing for Hastion, not countless unseen eyes, always watching. One person’s reaction was far easier to gauge than the faceless masses’. The royal shoulders dipped down and the royal posture was less picture perfect, though an undercurrent of tension still ran through his body, now disguised in amicability. A quiet, traitorous part of Hastion’s mind wanted to run his hands along those muscles, to help draw his king further out of perfection, to hear him sigh and lean into his touch and—

Nope. He wasn’t allowed to think those thoughts. Not right now.

“Is there—” His voice cracked. What was he, a teenager? Hastion hadn’t been a child for a very long time. “Is there anything you wanted of me, specifically, Sir?”

King Galengar started, as if he hadn’t thought anything of the implications of his actions. With a hesitant smile, he kept his words careful. ‘It must be boring, spending all your time out in the hallway. I thought you might like a change of scenery.’

The pleasantness, so easy on his face, made something in Hastion’s stomach twist. “That is too kind, Sir. It is nothing but what it expected of me.”

‘That doesn’t mean it isn’t boring.’ One hand leafed through the stacks, in search of something. ‘I’m afraid this won’t be too exciting either, but at least it’s better than watching an empty hall, isn’t it?’

Wait. He was going to be here for his  _ entire _ shift? “S-sir, I mean no disrespect, but you would have me leave my post?”

The king tilted his head, eyes innocuous. ‘Well, you’re tasked with guarding me, yes?’

“…yes, Sir?”

That blessed grin only widened. ‘Then that’s perfect. I’m here, and you’re guarding me. There, job fulfilled, no need to wait for hours for nothing to happen.’

Hastion resisted the urge to chuckle, a faint smile on his face. He was right, and, if he wasn’t, he was the king. That he would willingly want to spend more time with his guard was a surprise to end all surprises. True, he knew how this was going to end, but that was quite alright. He was here to serve his king and serve his king he would.

“If I may say, you are in a good mood today, Sir.” The words were out of his mouth before he could bite them back.

His king must have seen the way his face shifted immediately into apology. ‘You’re right, I am. The weather is just lovely, and the heat wave might be breaking soon, with any luck. That, and I have just enough reports to keep me occupied for a little while before I need to do anything tedious.’ He gestured to the financial documents open in front of him. ‘The joys of running numbers.’

Nodding, Hastion ignored the way said heat wave made his head pound, even in the cool room. Despite his king’s friendliness, his head still ached, pain a constant tattoo against the inside of his skull. He needed to rest, to sleep, that was obvious enough.

No matter. He had suffered through worse, and his king had been clear in what he wanted, with all his lingering glances and barely veiled innuendos. No one ever liked math, nobody in their right minds, at least, so of course he would invite his guard in for a distraction. Hastion was a tool for him to be used, and he was going to be a good tool for him.

With serene, fluid motions, he let his training take over, a skillset he had almost certainly been hired for. Placing himself between his Master’s legs, Hastion lowered his gaze demurely, feeling that familiar blush tinge the tips of his ears as he rested a cheek against his liege’s dark blue pants. He was out of practice. Hopefully, his Lord would forgive him for that.

‘Sair Hastion…’ The signs dropped off, as if his king were trying to find the proper words.

That was alright, Hastion didn’t need this spelled out for him.

“It would be an honor to service you, my King.” His eyes were doe-like, as if he had anything of note to show off in the grey of his irises, dark enough as to border on black. “I am but your humble servant.”

A faint flush had crept up into his king’s cheeks. ‘It’s quite alright—’

Before he knew what he was doing, Hastion’s words cut him off. “I am more than willing to follow your instructions, Sir. It is an honor to be selected for this.”

More than anything, Hastion was thankful for his Lord’s mercy. Interrupting his king like this would have gotten him slapped, or worse. Likely much worse. The king’s hand raised and Hastion flinched anyway, a short, insuppressible motion that knocked his cheek further into his Master’s thigh. No. Fuck. His heart pounded in his chest, eyes closed tight, waiting for the sting that was bound to bloom across his face.

Nothing came, no flash of pain, no harsh clap of sound. There was nothing but gentle fingers, pulling his chin up like he was made of the most expensive porcelain. Cracking his eyes open, Hastion knew what a mess he looked like right now. How disobedient. Against orders, a tear slipped from one eye, landing between his palms on the floor. Try again. He could try again.

Nuzzling his king’s thigh, he gave his Lord the most pleasing look he could, as perfect as the one who taught him. Hastion could pretend to be beautiful for his king, even as his Master’s eyes softened in worry.

No. Wrong again.

He wasn’t supposed to be worried, he was supposed to be turned on. How was Hastion meant to please him if he couldn’t even do this one simple thing? If he couldn’t behave and obey and be good for his king?

‘Please, don’t.’ There was a tremor in his hands.

Oh. So, Hastion had managed to be so unappealing that his very presence distressed his Master. Nausea churned in his core, breath coming in shallow bursts. What could he be, if not desirable? What did this king do with the undesirables? Was this how Hastion died, weeks’ travel from home, without even knowing if his sister—

“It would be an honor, my King.” His voice wobbled, screaming out to the world his failure. “All I want is to please you.”

That hand on his chin came to rest atop his head, thumb idly stroking the baby hairs of his forehead, as if this weren’t a scene right out of a softcore pornographic novel. Every thought in his mind stalled, jittering to a halt.

Hastion couldn’t help the blush that darkened his cheeks, the way his body stirred and woke at the warmth against his scalp. This… this was lewd. This was far more lewd than he had ever expected. He could give a blowjob, no problem, but this? His king playing with his hair as if they were lovers? This would destroy him, if Hastion let it.

He couldn’t help the way his ears tipped back, quivering in pleasure. It embarrassed him, no doubt embarrassed his Master, too. Who wanted a servant that was unable to control himself like this, was so brash as to put his own bliss before his Lord’s? Hastion should spare him the wasted time and sympathy and walk off the roof of the palace himself.

‘You have already pleased me. You please me by laughing and speaking and being a person to chat with.’ Focusing on his king’s words was hard, especially when his hand petted Hastion’s head so gently, as if he would shatter into little pieces at the slightest touch. ‘You don’t need to do this; not now, and not ever, if you don’t want to. It pleases me when you do what you would  _ like _ to, not what you think I want you to.’

Thank the Destroyer for this obscuring angle. Had his Master seen the tent between his guard’s legs, that surely would have been a different story. His breathing was fast, though for a much different reason. It was comical, the way his king wanted the two of them to behave like equals, as if it would be tolerated by anyone else. All these tests, and he still didn’t trust Hastion.

“Yes, Sir.” It was impressive how steady he managed to keep his voice.

That gaze was going to melt him. Hastion was going to be a puddle on the floor and the servants were going to have to mop him up while his king finished up his work, free of distraction.

‘Then please, tell me what  _ you _ would like, and it will happen.’

A breathy chuckle passed Hastion’s lips, drunk off of the attention lavished unto him. How bold, how daring of him to act like a lovesick fool. “I-I…”

Trailing off, he couldn’t help the way his head lolled further into his Master’s hand. Deft fingers ran through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, firm but gentle. It was so teasing, feeding into the fire starting inside him, and yet…

“I would like nothing more than this.” He was going to make an idiot of himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not now, not with his king’s hand in his hair.

‘I think we both know that’s a lie.’ King Galengar’s hand was careful not to brush against Hastion’s ears as he petted him. That would be quite an overstep, even like this. If someone walked in… the explanation alone would likely result in the tabloids running wild. ‘Please, be honest. I promise I won’t mock you.’

Oh, Hastion wanted something, alright, but even thinking it was forbidden. With a quiet noise that could have been a moan, had Hastion been bold enough to make such a sound in front of his Lord, he blinked at him, grateful for his dark irises in hiding how wide his pupils must have been as he sifted through unhelpful thoughts. Heart in his throat, he couldn’t think of anything else besides those fingers carding through his hair, so bold, without even a courtship declaration.

Voice creaking, courage filled his veins. His king wanted him to be honest. “I’d like…”

What would he like? What possible request could he be so daring as to ask of his king right now? He should be happy that he was alive right now, not being sent off to the dungeons for his rudeness. This king was so kind, so merciful, even to those who didn’t deserve it in the slightest. Hastion shouldn’t be getting this attention, shouldn’t be taking up his king’s time like this.

He gave up, giving his king the most persuasive smile he could. “I’d like nothing, Sir. I am content to remain like this.”

If he could spend the rest of his shift in this position, compromising as it might have been, with a hand tangled in his hair, then Hastion could die happy.

Chuckling, his king ruffled his hair like they had been married for years, Hastion only holding back a groan from sheer will. ‘Alright, alright. Though, you might like to move a bit, that or get a few pillows. Those floors can be awful on your knees.’

“It’s nothing, Sir.” The words were out of his mouth, automatic and creaky. “I don’t mind.”

With a sigh, King Galengar pushed Hastion’s dark locks out of his face, Hastion arching his head to follow the motions of his hand. He held still as he was scrutinized, royal eyes raking over his skin. A shudder ran through him as their eyes met, light grey on coal, beauty on beast. All too soon, that hand drew away, Hastion’s mind crying out for the touch.

Ha. So desperate for any form of touch that he would disrespect his king like this, acting like a spoiled lover. He should be ashamed of himself. He  _ would _ be ashamed of himself, if that was what his king wanted of him.

That hand returned, despite Hastion’s behavior, stroking idly at the nape of his neck and scratching here and there, responding to the way Hastion rubbed his head against his Master’s hand in a lapse of strength. This was it, this was how he passed, lavished in undeserving affection and teased until he lost the ability to think. Surely, his king knew what this was doing to him, what chaos he was wrecking on Hastion’s long-fought skill of stringing together thoughts.

‘I need to work a bit, so you’re welcome to get comfortable.’ King Galengar said, as if he needed to explain anything to his guard. Then, quieter, ‘Are you alright?’

Numbly, Hastion nodded, trying to will his erection back down as his headache reiterated its demands that he take a nap, or, at the very least, some painkillers. “Yes, Sir, I am. Shall I move?”

The king turned his attention back to his books with a shrug. ‘If you’d like. I’m sure you know where the bathroom is, if you need it.’

Hastion shook his head gingerly, trying not to dislodge that blessed hand. “Thank you, Sir. I do not deserve your mercy.”

The pen scratching stopped as King Galengar let out the quietest sigh. His eyes met his guard’s, light grey stormy.

‘Yes, you do. You do, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.’

As the pen met paper again, his king focused on numbers and not the man between his legs. Hastion was swimming, head spinning. It was his blood, that was the issue. All the blood in his body had gone to his cock and now he was hallucinating vividly, misinterpreting things his Lord told him. Hallucinating and tired. Waking up so early after his most recent bout of work-related insomnia had been a mistake.

His head came to rest against his king’s knee, body insubordinate in its demands. Hastion was such a bad servant, so needy. His king should scold him for that, not seeing to his orders and keeping his hands to himself. A chuckle above him, more the silent exhalation of air than anything else, marked him as not in any immediate danger. He kept his eyes open, watching for his king’s words.

Breathy chuckles got his attention. ‘Tired?’

Hastion was protesting before the sign had been completed. “Of course not, Sir. I’m perfectly alright.”

‘As you say.’ That smile didn’t slip as his Lord’s free hand returned to his head. ‘You’re welcome to rest, I wouldn’t mind.’

Well, that didn’t sound too bad. There was no reason he couldn’t just close his eyes, if only for a moment. He had spent his week getting his king everything he had wanted, waking up early and staying up late to speak to people and find all the proper documents. If his Master gave him permission… it would be fine, right? King Galengar was not known for going back on his word like that.

When his eyes opened again, it was dark outside. He was in a different position, too, laying on his king’s couch with a light blanket pulled over him. It was quiet, far too quiet. No pen scratching or page flipping, not even the creaking of a chair as his king shifted presumably. Hastion was alone—alone in the king’s chambers.

Oh Creator. He was in so much trouble.


	6. 1-5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepover!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta say, tits out sleepovers are the best

Overworked was an understatement. Even with her best efforts, for every task Malaidor finished, five more popped up in its place. Day after day, night after night, the Queen’s time was reserved for weeks in advance, the buffers put in for breaks cannibalized by whatever emergency had popped into being this month—this week, nowadays. Never before in her life had Malaidor found herself as busy as she was on the throne.

With a sigh, she glanced at the arcane stones, glowing pleasingly on the iron wrought tray they’d been artfully cast onto, lighting up the room with their orange radiance. Night long-since fallen, she hadn’t even bothered to draw her curtains. The pale gold fabric still sat open, black void of a window taunting Malaidor. Really. All these hours in her say, and she couldn’t even finish a measly stack of paperwork.

Her body was starting to protest her autocratic rule over it, head aching and eyes skimming over things without reading them. It was far from ideal, quite far from ideal. Running her hands through her hair, Malaidor tried to ignore the way her chair had started to dig into her back, the armrests leaving little red marks on her elbows where her right hand rested as she wrote. Fancy chairs like these had not been designed for late night work. Well, it wasn’t as if anyone had been anticipating the reigning monarch to be doing much of anything when they were meant to be asleep. Essren had left them all far too much to deal with.

Behind her, the hidden door to her bedchamber creaked open, her mysterious visitor purposely making noise, as he always did. Gods and men, was he predictable, predictable and a welcome distraction. Exhaling a chuckle, Malaidor couldn’t help but wonder if, one day, he was going to forget to “stumble” over the bells lining the secret doorframe and sneak up on her properly. It wasn’t as if he was incapable of it. Her husband could be very stealthy indeed.

“Gal,” her tone was light, a smile edging into it, “what brings you here, so late at night.”

She leaned backwards in her chair, stretching her arms while she did so. Seeing her husband’s signs as he passed through the door into her office was much easier, especially once he entered the room proper. A painful crack from her back made the both of them wince, muscles tense and angry.

‘Are you really still working on those academic reports right now?’ His face cast an amicable, if concerned, light on the words.

Twisting in her chair, Malaidor rested her chin on the back of her hand. “They aren’t going to read themselves, you know.”

With a loving, if tired, sigh, Galengar whined in that endearing way Malaidor could never say ‘no’ to. ‘Can’t we at least move to the bed? You have a desk there anyway.’

“You are so lazy, did you know that?”

‘And you let me get away with it.’ Triumphant, he grinned, backing into the bedroom. ‘Come on, I have feelings to talk about.’

Grabbing the file she was definitely going to work on, Malaidor couldn’t help but quip, “An infestation of feelings? I’ll call the exterminator, then.”

‘I fear it’s terminal!’ Gal clutched his heart, staggering to the bed with the most dramatic steps he could. ‘Mor, aren’t you hot in here with the windows closed like that? It’s a sauna.’

Her name sign was a sweet thing, blending ‘heart’ with ‘sword’, modified to be one-handed. When Galengar had shown her, she had nearly cried at the sentiment. A sign, just for her.

“Positively sweltering.”

Shooting her a sympathetic look, Galengar kicked off his boots and set them against the wall. Malaidor had never been a fan of summer, even less so now that she had to wear all sorts of formal clothes, layer upon layer trapping the heat to her skin. If she didn’t do anything, she was going to boil in her own dress, cooked to a perfect medium rare in the middle of a peace negotiation.  _ That _ would certainly go over well—there wouldn’t even be any spices to flavor her with.

In a gauche display of comfort, her husband was stripping, a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. Hm. Maybe that wasn’t too bad an idea.

“Oh, stop, please!” An undercurrent of exaggeration ran through her voice as she set her things on the nightstand, pulling up a chair in a mockery of work. “I’m already seduced! Please! Think of the children!”

He grinned at her and Gods and men, she never wanted to go without that smile. How she had survived a century without knowing of it, Malaidor didn’t know. That snorting laugh, silent but not the least bit withdrawn for it, was like ambrosia. He gave her a little wiggle, motions made jagged by his uncontrollable giggles, mirth glinting in his eyes like sunlight through windows.

He really did look like sunlight, lightly tanned skin giving way to blond hair, falling in messy waves all down his back, pointed ears poking out between the locks. Freckles dotted his face, less numerous than before, the consequence of spending so much time indoors. Gal always had such nice freckles, dancing across the bridge of his nose like a million kisses from unseen gods. Counting them had been calming, lulling.

Even in only his underwear, her husband had a presence. Black ink marked out the tattoo on his left arm, runes arching up his shoulder and bicep, matching the twin runes on his wrists. Those had served them quite well, very much worth the steep cost. Pulling off her own dress, Malaidor let herself sit back down in only her drawers and a corset, fingers already moving to unlace it.

‘Tits out slumber party, I see.’ With a happy sigh, Galengar flopped onto her bed, propping himself up on his elbows as he rolled onto his stomach. Knowing him, he’d get tired of that position and turn over again, freeing up his hands more. Gal was never one for sitting still.

“Tits out slumber party, indeed.” Malaidor said, dropping the corset to the floor. “Though I can’t say you have any.”

A scandalized gasp fell out of his mouth as he puffed his chest out. ‘I have tits! Just because mine don’t make my back hurt doesn’t mean they don’t  _ exist _ .’

Leaning on the chair, a smile picked at the corners of Malaidor’s mouth. “Itty bitty.”

‘You’re cruel, you know that?’

Malaidor couldn’t help but huff out a chuckle. “Clearly. Now, those strange and mystical feelings you promised me?”

Her husband’s cheeks colored, and one hand went to pick at the covers under him while the other signed. ‘So, you know how we aren’t exclusive…’

“You have a crush?” She scooted her chair forward, excitement governing her every movement.

That blush darkened as Galengar did his best to sputter in sign. ‘Well—no—maybe? I don’t know?’

“ _ Please _ tell me more.”

‘Drama hound.’ Fondness dripped from the word.

“Oh hush.” Work forgotten, Malaidor put her feet up on her nightstand, leaning back in her chair. “Keep going.”

Picking the words carefully, Galengar let his eyes fall from hers. ‘So… um… my guard…’

“Hastion?” She used the name sign they had made for him, a mixture of ‘guard’ and ‘loyal’ that had been her own handiwork.

Galengar nodded, dropping his face into the covers with a loud exhale. ‘I think he’s really pretty and nice and today he thought I wanted him to suck me off but I  _ didn’t _ —and he kind of fell asleep in my lap and I put him on the couch with a blanket and I think I like him, Mor. I think I like him a lot.’

A stretch of silence hung in the air between them as she processed what she had just seen.

Start with the little things first. “He fell asleep in your lap?”

Her husband winced. ‘Well, I couldn’t convince him to get up from between my legs… and one thing led to another—I didn’t fuck him!” Genuine worry filled his face. “I promise I didn’t! No one was naked or undressed! I just… I don’t want to take advantage.’

“I believe you,” she soothed, “I believe you. Let me get the story straight; walk me through what happened?”

As predicted, Galengar rolled miserably onto his back, cheeks stained red. ‘He looked tired, so I invited him in after my meetings. I’d intended to talk about Taryn—the guard that got fired—but I think he misinterpreted it. When I went to do my financial reports, I made a joke about it being boring, so he thought I meant for him to… uh… distract me.’

“Well, financial reports  _ are _ boring.” Drumming her fingers on the table, she tilted her head. “What happened then?”

‘I would like to preface this with a reminder that I was born and raised in the Northwest Territories, and, thus, don’t know how to properly be an elf.’

“Oh no.”

With hesitant signs, Galengar tried to hide his face in his hair. ‘I thought I might be comforting… people like to be comforted—so I… I might’ve…’

“You didn’t.” Gods and men.

‘I was petting his hair.’ He jerked up into a seated position, frustration etched in the lines of his face. ‘I forgot, okay? I forgot about the whole hair kink thing and I was just trying to be nice! And then he got all blushy and bashful and was looking at me like I was a god come down from the skies. But then he leaned his head against my knee and went to sleep so… I don’t know.’

It was genuinely difficult to stifle laughter. “How long were you petting him for, Gal.”

‘Not long, ten minutes or so.’

“You tease!” Covering her mouth with a hand, Malaidor’s eyes gleamed with a grin. “You teased him for ten entire minutes and then did  _ nothing _ . I’m surprised he didn’t cum in his pants—he didn’t, right? No, you’d tell me if that happened.”

The embarrassment on Gal’s face morphed into amusement. ‘He didn’t, though  _ that _ would be a story. He seemed to like it, at least? Mor, purveyor of elf culture, have I fucked up?’

“Well, now we have to think. Do you like him?”

‘I think I do.’ Her husband stared up at the ceiling, falling over onto his side. ‘But I don’t want to make him do something he doesn’t want to.’

Having Hastion as a third wouldn’t be too bad. He was nice, if a bit hesitant. Most of Malaidor’s interactions with him had been marred by his own nervousness, the man afraid of a single misstep. It would do good to put that to right, especially if Galengar was looking to properly court him. Not everything Hastion did was under as much scrutiny as they were; it would be good to have someone out of the public eye. He was trustworthy, too—at least, from what Malaidor could tell. He hadn’t spoken about any of Galengar’s night meetings, never fussed about sounds from inside his chambers. Not a single rumor had started from him.

A sympathetic hum sounded from her. “The joys of being royalty. You could always ask, or I, for that matter.”

‘If he likes me? We aren’t teenagers, Mor, I can deal with my feelings myself. That and he’ll either misinterpret it or lie because he thinks you want him to.’

Yes, that would be an issue. “What else, then. We could ask the other guards.”

Galengar rolled his eyes. ‘Like that isn’t suspicious.’

“I could ask Vadia?”

‘Vadia is terrified of you.’

And how was that her fault? “All my guards are, for some reason.”

Her husband lifted an eyebrow. ‘It’s because you make small talk very ominously. It sounds like you’re threatening their family.’

“I make small talk perfectly well!” That… might explain a few things.

‘It just takes a little getting used to.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t hear it that way anymore. We can bring that up to your therapist later.’

It was odd, how speaking of things so carelessly made them seem all the more solvable. “Yes, back to your love life. What is the ideal situation you see? If everything could go your way? I promise, I won’t judge or feel bad if I’m not in it.”

His mouth dropped open in shock. ‘Of  _ course, _ you’re in it. I wouldn’t have anything else!’ The relief Malaidor felt came as a surprise. ‘I’d want both of you, ideally. Not to sound naïve, but a small, happy…’ He trailed off.

_ Family _ , Malaidor’s mind finished for her,  _ I’m his family _ .

What a funny word that was, one that neither of them were willing to say aloud. Families were wont to come undone around them, be it from being thrown out of houses or dragged off to the dungeons, waiting to be strung up. It didn’t have to be like that, they knew that, but there was only so much they could do about the past.

“Then have it.” Her voice was hushed, words more for herself than anyone else.

Hands stilled, hanging in the air above her husband as he mulled everything over, wringing meaning and action out of his thoughts. Daring, quite daring of her to suggest he make himself happy. They both knew Galengar wasn’t her lover—not in the romantic sense—and neither she his. However strong their friendship was, built on the bonds of blood and war, they weren’t lovers. They would never be lovers. It was for the best; Malaidor had a way of driving people to their dooms, even nice elves from the Northwest that got too comfortable around her and invited themselves into her personal chambers without a second thought.

The quiet had hung between them for too long before Galegnar shifted the topic. She would be getting an answer soon enough, it seemed.

‘I’ve got another problem for you, Mor.’ His signs were light, conversational.

Shifting positions, Malaidor made herself comfortable. “Do you now?”

‘I don’t like Terioak.’ He grimaced. ‘I think he knows.’

An eyebrow lifted, though, aggravatingly, her voice remained in that calm monotone that had been long-since beaten into her. “There’s a lot of things about us to know. Does he know how we met, or does he know about that time I disemboweled an emberbear? Lots of things.”

The grin that spread across his face was pure reminiscence. ‘We had dinner for weeks.’

“You hate emberbear, called it a false god of meat, unfit even for the dogs.”

‘And emberbear is the most disgusting of Solaqen meats, but it’s meat.’ He pouted at her, unable to resist the smile plucking at the corners of his lips.

A trickle of amusement crept into her words. “I’m not going to bring up shade worms, then.”

Gagging, Galengar stuck his tongue out in a mockery of revulsion. ‘Disgusting. Just disgusting. I can’t believe we stomached that.’

“As I recall, you didn’t.” He’d thrown up and refused to eat her trail cooking for a week, though he still lay his bedroll next to hers and let her hold onto him while she slept. “Mercy ate your portion, right? Mercy or Monks.”

‘I think it was Monks. Very eager for the bones.’ Stretching his arms above his head, Galengar’s shoulders popped loudly. ‘But yes, new, serious problem.’

She twirled a pen in her hands, fidgeting. “I’m listening.”

His signs were less easy, words formed carefully. ‘I think he knows about Reikyani.’

“Gods and motherfucking  _ men _ , Gal.” The oath was out of her mouth before she could think. “That’s serious—that’s very serious.”

‘I know—’

“ _ How _ did this happen? I did everything—there aren’t any records of you that aren’t locked up under my desk and the key hasn’t left my neck. I didn’t miss anything, Gal; this should be impossible.”

Guilt bubbled up amongst his features. ‘I gave it away. He mentioned his new fiancé and I recognized his name. My face gave it away. Mor—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault and—’

Elven error, what a cruel mistress. Well, this wasn’t too bad, now. He didn’t have anything concrete, just a suspicion based off of a facial expression. There wouldn’t be any files to burn, any houses to break into.

“It isn’t your fault.” She took a steadying breath. It wouldn’t do to get too upset over this. “It isn’t. It’s hard to control emotions, I know I have my own issues with that. Only thing left is damage control, and I’ve gotten rather good at that. Luckily for you, I have more than a pretty penny on Terioak.”

Seeing the worry on Gal’s face broke her heart into a million itty-bitty pieces. More than anything, she wanted to reach over and grab his hands, to pull him against her until everything was all better. She got the creeping feeling that the gesture, while appreciated, wouldn’t be ideal, not with the way she would fall into numbness, skin burning at the contact, mind far off in the past. For him, she could take the chance.

“Here, let me braid your hair and we can talk more.” A middle ground, something she  _ could _ do for him in the moment.

Miserable but grateful, Gal sat up, scooching forward enough that Malaidor could sit behind him without causing herself any undue stress. A mirror hung on the wall let her see his signs, should he choose to make any. They were getting better and better at this; years did wonders for learning to communicate effectively.

“This isn’t the end of the world.” For once, that eternally calm tone was useful. Idly, she raked her fingers through his hair, setting aside a few chunks to turn into braids. “No one’s going to come and take you away, especially not on Terioak’s decree. Of myriad things, they would need my permission, and I would rather go on a rat poison-only diet than have you taken from me.”

His shoulders drifted a bit lower, the muscles untensing. ‘Please don’t go on a rat poison-only diet.’

Weaving his hair into a perfect braid, Malaidor lifted an eyebrow. “I have better things to do with my time, dear. Also, don’t forget that the camps are long closed. So what if Terioak knows? Who’s going to believe him? The great King Galengar, the Slut of the Palace—”

‘Elven Whore.’ He corrected her, fingerspelling.

“Oh, my apologies, Elven Whore. I’ll use your proper title from now on.” She reveled in the chuckle that drew out of him. “King Galengar, the Elven Whore, is  _ actually _ a graduate of Reikyani and was sprung before he was in there too long. Nowadays, he’s in charge of financial policy and internal affairs. Let’s all go to Reikyani and learn what he was taught there, clearly they’re doing something right.”

His wince was less heartening. ‘A few people already think Reikyani did something right.’

“And they’re not only idiots, but also bastards.” She tossed a braid over one shoulder. “It was a shitty, shitty place and we closed all of the kyanis down as fast as we could. There isn’t anyone in the world that can convince me otherwise, you know that.”

‘What about Vee?’

“Vi or Vee?”

‘Vivian Vee.’ He clarified.

With a huff, Malaidor kept her hands moving. “Vee can only tell me what to do, not what to believe. Could; I don’t think the twins are on Idran anymore.”

Tilting his head, much to his wife’s clucking and fussing over how her braiding was getting ruined, Galengar stretched one leg out. ‘Bounty hunting’s safer on this side of the rift, but I guess work’s better in the Solaq.’

“At least we don’t have to worry about any subliminal messaging.”

‘Or Mercy stealing our body while we sleep.’

Malaidor shook her head, a faint smile on her face. “I still have nightmares about that, you know.”

A silent laugh spilled from her husband’s lips. ‘I’d say I don’t but that would be a lie.’

“She could just be so monstrous at times.”

‘Do you remember—’

“With the general?”

Nods and understanding, laughing eyes.

Fondness for him hummed through her words. “How could I forget? She wore that body down until it was bones.”

A mutual shudder passed through the both of them. She continued working on his hair, the soft golden locks smooth between her fingers. It was beautiful, hauntingly so. In the light, it glowed like fire and sunshine, a halo around Galengar’s face. It matched his temperament, the smiling king with hair like molten joy. If only more people saw that side of him.

‘I want a haircut.’ Galengar said, signs sudden in the quiet.

A part of her heart cried out in grief. “Really?”

‘It’s long and unwieldy. Takes forever to get ready in the morning.’ His eyes slipped from hers in the mirror. ‘Might as well get started with my day faster.’

Her reply was soft. “You know I don’t like it when you lie to me.”

He drew his shoulders up, as if to protect himself from a verbal onslaught. ‘I don’t like it long. It reminds me of my mother. She never let me have it short and…’

“And that’s fine, really.” Malaidor let the final braid slip from her hands. “I’ll miss messing around with it, but I won’t mind. Especially not if it makes you happy.”

Genuine surprise shone from his face. ‘Wait, really?’

“Gal, you’re a fully grown adult, you don’t need my permission to get a haircut.” She shook her head at the thought. “Do whatever you want—get piercings, a tattoo, dye your hair the brightest shade of pink you can find. I’ll still stand beside you. You know that, right?”

‘I think piercings might be a bit much for the court.’

Ruffling his hair, Malaidor put as much affection as she could into her voice. It wasn’t much, but her husband would understand. “They’ll learn. Besides, we could get matching ones.”

The thought of that got him laughing. Ah yes, the king and queen, wearing matching earrings just to declare how hedonistic they were, willing to flaunt such inappropriate, unseemly garb. They would have better luck having the court take them seriously in full-blown fetish gear, ropes and gags and collars marking out just what they did—not that they did any of that. They had seen more than enough of each other in the Solaq to be so brazen.

‘Hastion could get one too.’ Silent giggles pulled Gal’s face into a beguiling smile. With that face? He could convince anyone of anything. ‘Wouldn’t that be such a scene, us three deviants.’

“It would be quite a scene indeed.” Her own chuckle was quiet, an unfamiliar sound to her throat. Practice would make perfect.

It brought excitement to her husband’s face, eyes lighting up as he watched her. ‘I heard that!’

“Your ears deceive you.” She offered him the evilest grin she could. “I would never make such a base sound.”

‘You did and it was good!’ His signs were loose and friendly, made brisk by his happiness. ‘Were you working on that with Lozolem?’

Had Malaidor had more emotive range, she would have blushed. “Perhaps. She says I’m making good progress, which is good to hear from anyone, let alone a psychiatrist. Oh, I almost forgot: there are a few exercises she would like for me to do, care to assist me with them?”

‘In what world would I answer “no”?’ The Gods had truly blessed Gal; light seemed to pour out from within him every chance it got. Maybe he was the Missing Sun, though, he would have to be a few millennia older to be accurate to that legend.

“That’s good to hear.” An easy fondness bubbled up in her, slight, but Gal knew what to watch out for. “They’re simple touch exercises, meant to build up my tolerance. I’ll still ask you for expression help, though. I do hope you don’t find that annoying.”

He shook his head. ‘I would never.’ A mock serious expression settled on his features. ‘For my Queen? Anything is an honor.’

With a snort, she whapped him upside the head lightly, not enough to hurt him or trigger anything in her. “Don’t make me send you to… uh… the dungeons? Do we even upkeep the dungeons anymore? I believe I gave that to you in the split.”

‘We do, but only for severe crimes.’ He informed her, stretching the muscles in his legs. ‘Murder, rape, particularly egregious crimes of fashion, the like.’

“Your sense of humor is awful.”

‘And you love it.’

“May the Gods see it fit to strike you down.”

His wheezy, voiceless laugh was well worth the ribbing. Many of the sounds Galengar made would be concerning, had it been someone else, but that initial worry had given way to familiarity, if not a smidgeon of exasperation at his antics, once she realized he was neither in pain nor dying. Born without vocal cords, the sounds her husband was able to produce were, understandably, limited—though he never let it bother him. Sign worked just fine and his moods could be read from his expression with ease.

Tipping his head back, he played with one of the braids, running it through his fingers. Funny, how his body held so much strength and managed to look so delicate doing so. No one would expect that the king would be able to heft his wife, a full head and some shoulders taller than him, and yet, he had proven himself time and time again. Malaidor was quite lucky.

Those slender hands with their impossible grip were brought up to sign—a joke, most likely. He was so fond of amusing her—when that same secret door he had entered through opened. Hearts fell into stomachs as Malaidor moved to cover up her husband, save him the least bit of worry, protect him from prying eyes and vicious rumors but—too late. Far too late. When had she ever been lucky?

His guard stood, blanket held around his shoulders like an afterthought, eyes wide and staring at his king, a blush creeping as he pried his eyes up from his king’s chest.

All joy had drained from Galengar’s face, leaving behind an unnerving mixture of fear and anger. Malaidor could hear his heartbeat, or was it her own? It mattered not. That fast tattoo was the soundtrack to their thoughts as Hastion crumpled to the floor in a deep bow, hands trembling—ears more so—skin pale. Her husband sat, frozen, fingers trying to shred ribbons of her blanket as his guard pleaded for his life, as he tried to slow his breathing down enough to mitigate the risk of fainting.

_ The fickle feats of Gods and men _ , read stories older than kingdoms,  _ pale in power to a well-kept secret falling asunder. _


	7. 1-6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is key!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this seem familiar? that's bc it was originally the 2nd half of Stressful Times, but i.... uh..... kinda cut the meat off the bones and dressed it in new muscle so it's pretty different

So, this was how Galengar’s life came crashing down around him.

Nothing needed to be set into motion, he would do what was needed willingly. No use making a scene and destroying the reputation Malaidor had spent too long building. He would not be the one to tear his wife from the throne she had fought so hard to claim. Galengar was many things, but a traitor, he was not.

His guard was going to turn him in without a second thought. It would be the right thing to do, it was what he  _ should do _ . Anything else was tantamount to treason. Galengar would be turned into the proper authorities, carted off to either be put to work or fixed, and live out his life as a proper graduate of Reikyani, rather than the flawed treatment he’d already been given there. A life that wasn’t his woud await him, either given to a noble who had pleased the king or staying as silent as possible about the whole ordeal, head politely bowed and—

Wait a minute,  _ he _ was the king.

Frowning, Galengar realized he wasn’t breathing properly, chest fluttering like it was bound. That wasn’t good. He needed to do things like breathe. Breathe and eat, those were the two main ones. A sigh reminded his body of all the proper motions; air goes in, stays there for a little bit, and then goes out. Continue ad infinitum. As long as he repeated that, he was alive. Kings were hard to kill nowadays, him especially so. How many world leaders had tried, now? First Essren, then the Thornling, Essren again…

Hastion’s words had descended into pleading, syllables wavering as the royal silence stretched further between them. His wife’s jacket hung heavy on Galengar’s shoulders. That was kind, far too kind of her.

Hands steady as a surgeon’s, Galengar picked out his signs like he was picking out a dagger. ‘Mor, could you tell Sair Hastion to rise, please? He isn’t able to see me.’

Malaidor nodded, voice calm as ever. It was a gift in times like these. “Sair Hastion, please rise. If only to properly speak with us.”

He complied immediately, jerking up into a kneeling position, sitting on his heels. His body visibly trembled, bad enough that Galengar swore he could hear his teeth chattering. This was far from an experience Galengar enjoyed, having to put on his most kingly face and deal with fallouts. As much as he wanted to, pinning this to the top of Malaidor’s pile wouldn’t be the right thing to do. She had too much on her plate already to deal with his problems.

Weepy eyes, brimming with tears, met his and Galengar could see Hastion’s mind spelled out on his face.  _ This is how I die _ , he was no doubt thinking,  _ this is how the king takes me out back and shoots me like a useless dog. _

‘Sair Hastion, I trust you understand the severity of the situation.’ Galengar said, far more at ease than he felt.

Clumsy nods marked his response, his guard’s breath hitching as he glanced back and forth from his queen and his king. His kohl had been smudged while he slept on his king’s divan, soundly enough that he hardly stirred when an elf a good head shorter than him hauled him onto said divan and returned to his financial reports. No use in having someone between his legs, taking a nap—not that Galengar could focus anyway, unease and the faintest of crushes mixing into a disgusting slurry in his stomach at the idea that he would even  _ think _ to ask his guard to do something like that.

Galengar was many things, but a monster, he was not.

With a light touch to his now-clothed waist, Malaidor slipped away to put on a shirt, Hastion’s eyes quickly slipping away from her form, protecting her privacy. How polite he was, how very polite.

‘Sair Hastion, I feel that we may call each other by our first names, if you find that agreeable.’ No use in being so formal over this. It seemed that the royal plan had been expedited somewhat.

“Of course, my Lord.” His voice shook like a leaf in a storm.

Galengar crossed his legs. ‘Galengar. You’re welcome to call me ‘Galengar’.’

His name sign was an odd thing. There were more than enough floating around, but something in him possessed Galengar to use the one that Malaidor had made for him. It was so soundly theirs that this should’ve felt like a vast breach of protocol, but here he was, using it anyway. A glance in the mirror showed him the surprise on Malaidor’s face, followed immediately by a gentle fondness, mixed with a sliver of heartbreak.

He had done that, this was his fault. His heart ached for her. All this time, and still, he was keeping secrets, hushing up about everything that would replace that fondness with ardent hatred. One day—and that day  _ was _ coming—they could speak of that. Until then, Galengar was left with affection he didn’t deserve and cleanup for situations he never should have had. His wife’s ire was not something to crave, not in the slightest.

“Of course, …Galengar.” He almost missed Hastion’s reply, a thing said so quietly it dropped into the carpets the instant it was uttered.

Those charcoal eyes lingered. ‘Why don’t we move this discussion to my chambers, alright?’

Nothing against Malaidor, but Galengar was always one to have his personal conversations in private. She knew that well enough, having been on the receiving end of so many of them.

Hastion, unfortunately, had not had such experience. Cheeks paling, he staggered to his feet, hands clasped so firmly in front of him Galengar expected one of his fingers to snap off. His breathing came shallow, tears prickling in his eyes from terror. He wanted nothing more than to wipe those tears away, to run his thumbs along Hastion’s cheeks and… and…

And what. What could Galengar do? Was he thinking to be his lover, to reenact Essren’s dalliances? What a wonderful king he was, ignorant of the impact of his will on others.

Malaidor bid him a farewell as he led his guard through the secluded passageway, eyes following him. The two of them disappeared in the dark without much preamble. Drawing his jacket across his chest to hide his form, Galengar couldn’t help but wish for the early days he’d met his wife in. Nothing like this mattered; their lives revolved around getting food in their stomachs and not dying of exposure or bandits—it was hard, but it was theirs.

More and more, he missed that easy simplicity. Nobles could preach the triumphs of modernity and arcana all they wanted, but there truly was nothing like eating the meat of some unknown animal with your hands, cooked over a fire you stoked with your own breath, telling stories of days long past.

Maybe they could go camping, when everything stabilized some and the nobles weren’t looking to stick a knife in either of their backs as much. Malaidor would love that, a trip to the country.

The brightness of his room came all too soon, arcane stonelight cutting through his thoughts. Sniffling, muffled and quiet, became the backdrop of his musings, not crickets and running water. Opening his door, Galengar tried to ignore how much the walls seemed to close in on him, idyllic pale blue squeezing his chest tight. Sitting would be too informal for this, too familiar. He needed to move. With a careless gesture for Hastion to take a seat, Galengar let himself pace, back and forth.

‘I trust you understand you may not tell anyone what you saw this night.’ Said his hands without much input from him.

A nod. “Yes, m—G—Sir.”

The thought came to him like a bolt of lightning: this was Hastion’s first time in his charge’s bedroom. Surely, this was all he dreamed and more, standing in his king’s chambers with the king half-naked before him. How fitting.

Rounding on him, Galengar’s eyes were stern. ‘Swear to me. Swear to me you will never breathe a word of this to anyone.’

Hastion’s mouth flapped open and closed before his face set into a hard line, the most confident he’d ever seen him. Taking a knee, he looked up at his king like he was a knight of yore. “You have my word, Sir. I swear by anything with even a scrap of divinity that I will not betray you like this. Your secret is safe with me, Sir.”

Divinities. Ha.

What sway did divinities have anymore? Still, this was all he could hope for. Hastion wasn’t one to run off and gossip, his tenure had more than proved that. Not a single shred of information had been ferried out of his rooms without Galengar’s say-so, his personal meetings had been handled with the utmost delicacy and secrecy. Despite encountering what must have been steep bribes, Hastion had never said anything, never let anything slip.

‘Thank you.’ For the first time in what must have been years, a weight lifted off of Galenger’s chest. Somehow, he was  _ relieved _ . ‘I… thank you.’

Without a word, Hastion rose, hugging his Lord in a brash display of boldness. Surprisingly comforting, his arms were tight around him, warm and strong and, despite everything, still there.

Tears bubbled up in Galengar’s eyes, blurring the room as his body accepted this contact without a second thought. How long had it been since he’d last been able to relax? Months? Years, now? It didn’t matter. Drawing his arms up, Galengar pressed his face into Hastion’s shoulder, surrounded by his cologne, something musky and floral and tangy. Even at the end of a long day, he smelled nice, resoundingly familiar.

Too soon, he was pulling himself away, drying his eyes. As if realizing what he’d done, horror filled Hastion’s face, apologies already on his lips.

‘It’s alright.’ Galengar said before he needed to pry his guard off of the floor. ‘I needed that, thank you.’

“I-I see, Sir.” Disentangling himself as politely as he could, Hastion took a step back, head bowed just shallowly enough that he could see Galengar’s signs.

Guilt twinged through Galengar’s chest as he continued. ‘Stay—at least, for a little bit. There’s some water in the cabinet, if you’d like some. Wine, too, but I assume you aren’t one to drink on the job.’

“No, Sir; that would be against policy.” He blinked, likely trying to figure out if this was some sort of test. “I-I thank you for your kindness.”

As his guard bowed, the epitome of politeness, Galengar couldn’t help the nausea stirring in his stomach. Hastion padded away, steps quiet while his king wandered into the bathroom, letting the door drift closed behind him. Some cold water. Some cold water and a break from being the king for just a moment would do wonders for him. He just needed a minute to get his head on straight.

Unbidden, the word ‘kindness’ surfaced in his mind. Was that what they were calling it, his reign? Was Galengar really a kind king or was he simply unfamiliar normalcy reasserting itself after centuries? He was far from anything remarkable, just one smiling face out of a sea of many. People were going to realize that soon enough, just how simple he was, how blasé his platitudes were. The Mercy of the Northwest? The Sun of Galailan? Ha.

Silent laughter spilled from his lips, shoulders shaking. He was just a man, nothing more.

The steady stonelight cast the bathroom in a warm yellow glow, mirror reflecting his face back at him. He looked old, his hair made only yellower in the light. Shadows darkened his eyes, the beauty spot on his cheek anything but beautiful. Malaidor’s clothes hung on him, serving to both obscure and minimize his form. Swimming in her jacket, he looked as if he hadn’t eaten anything for days.

Skin stretched tight over prominent collarbones, cheekbones held in high relief. He needed to eat more, a lot more. A kingdom with a king that looked half-starved was hardly a power on the global stage. Maybe he could start scheduling some proper time for lunch or dinner… not that it would fix much in his schedule.

The room behind him looked far fairer than him, with its white-washed walls and golden embellishments. A clawed foot bathtub, made of the finest porcelain, lurked off to the side, surrounded by the most expensive glass mirrors looming high, serving to reproduce his form, free from the blessings of obscuring imperfections. Decorations beautified a door to the toilets, towels hanging on arcanely heated racks. Under his feet, the tiled floor was warm, magic thrumming through the ceramic to lap like tiny waves against his bare feet.

It made his head pound, being constantly surrounded by magic like this. He could smell it on the wind, taste it in the back of his throat, feel it against his skin no matter where he went. Malaidor would likely suggest shielding if he asked her. Not that he would. That was too much trouble. She had enough on her plate.

As if guided by a higher force he didn’t believe in, Galengar’s eyes drifted to the drawers in the sink cabinet, inlaid with gold. His feet moved him towards it, his hand reaching out to grasp the gilded knob. Pulling it open, his prize lay inside: scissors, so ornate as to be useless, handles done up in decorative metal vines, jewels embedded wherever there was space for them. A forgotten holdover from Essren’s time. With bated breath, he found himself opening the blades, a telltale spot of blood rust staining the junction where they met.

What had he expected from this relic, this piece of history somehow overlooked? These had been the end of someone’s life, had been the final thing they saw before pain and fear took over their world, red spilling out onto fine carpets and imported flooring. In his hands, he held someone’s death. An unbecoming. An antibirth.

The very thought made him want to vomit, his fingers picking at that tiny spot, no larger than the head of a pin. More than most, he knew what blood rust looked like. In another time, he would have asked his mother to  **glean** this object, to discover the names and faces associated with it, the hands it had passed through before his.

Well, it wasn’t as if his mother was willing to  **glean** much of anything for him now.

Opening the shears, impulse overtook him. His hands pulled a lock of hair taut. Golden strands almost glittered. Hah. Gold was so worthless in this time and place. Where splendors came in gifts and blessings, glooms came in cavalcades and floods. There was no dark without light, no light without dark. Too much of one good oversaturated a market, and Galengar could hardly be the one to plunge his economy into freefall. It would just be so irresponsible of a king.

The snick of blades through hair was cathartic.  _ So _ cathartic. Setting the lock of hair onto the marble counter even more so.

“Sir, I was wondering if you wanted anyth—” His guard’s words cut off as Hastion pushed the door open further than its previous sliver, catching sight of him.

Fuck.

Galengar froze in place, another fistful of his own hair held in front of his face, those stupid scissors ready to lop off another jagged chunk. He hadn’t cut his hair in years. Shame rose up, hot and heavy in his chest. He was squandering his gifts, throwing away a God’s blessing, and for what? To change how he looked? To pretend his mother had never… that he had never been sent to…

It was weak.  _ He _ was weak.

Hastion’s eyes softened, a rare occurrence. He pitied him, Galengar was sure of it. His own guard pitied him, that was how low he’d sunk. Once this got out, he wouldn’t be able to rely on Malaidor’s damage control anymore. Not even she could put this cat back into the bag. The entire kingdom would see the truth about the man they had let onto the throne.

Hastion’s sigh shattered the silence between them. It was a quiet sound, not long-suffering, not infantilizing. If anything, it was sympathetic. The man had fortified his fraying nerves with some water, calmed himself down enough that exhaustion had loosened his tongue, loosened both their tongues.

“If you cut like that, the strands won’t be of equal length, Sir.” His voice was soft, testing the waters. “I can help you, if you’d like.”

Tamping down the urge to flee, leave everything behind and let those around him save face, Galengar nodded. With slow, even steps, Hastion approached, as if tending to a wounded animal liable to lash out at any moment. Trembling hands gave the scissors over to him, the guard careful not to let their fingers brush. It would be unseemly, after all. He was merely preserving his king’s dignity—an unflattering haircut was just as bad as a sex scandal, maybe even worse.

Hesitantly, he brushed Galengar’s hair into a more orderly mess with light strokes of his fingers, a blush staining his cheeks. “How would you like it cut, Sir?”

Instead of signing, Galengar took a chunk between his fingers, riding up on it until there would be just a few inches of hair after the cut. Enough for a fringe with the sides short. Oh, Malaidor really  _ was _ going to kill him for this, if only for stealing such a boyish look. Though she had done her best to be subtle, Galengar was not ignorant to the way her eyes lingered on particularly nice shorter cuts. For elves, neither of them were rather partial to longer hair.

“That short?” Strong, calloused fingers took the lock from him, motioning to the same place. “If it’s too long, I can always cut more, Sir. I wouldn’t mind.”

He wouldn’t mind. Wasn’t that the joke to end all jokes. His guard wouldn’t mind doing all this extra work for him, of course he wouldn’t. It was exactly what he had been taught to say. Ignoring the way his skin buzzed where Hastion’s fingers had brushed against him, Galengar nodded shallowly.

A smile clearly meant to calm him graced Hastion’s lips, eyes on his king’s hair. Memories flashed in his eyes, expression far fonder than the situation would otherwise permit. He wasn’t here, not really, and that was alright. Galengar couldn’t ask him to be. That would be a cruelty; he was allowed to drift off in his memories, distract himself from his current situation.

The first cut was a blessing. Hastion’s hands were steady and accurate, clearly practiced.

‘You’re quite good at this.’ Galengar found himself signing.

Blinks brought his guard back into reality. “I… I used to do this for my little sister, Sir.”

The way he spoke, like he expected to be punished for his candor, broke Galengar’s heart. But he was speaking. They were speaking like this was normal. He could do this.

‘I wasn’t aware you had a sister.’ Trying for easy, Galengar winced internally at the way Hastion’s eyes darkened, smile turning strained. ‘If it’s a sore subject, I wouldn’t mind speaking of—’

He was cut off, Hastion’s mouth moving before the man could think to control it. “It’s fine. I just haven’t seen her for too long…” Another sigh. “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m aware of all I’m lacking.”

‘I haven’t found you so.’ His hands were slow to make the words, slow to play his hand. ‘You’ve been a very good guard to me, and I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Please, rest assured that I will always appreciate your candor, even if it’s to tell me a certain jacket looks horrible.’

Chuckling, Hastion paused in his cuts to glance at his king in the mirror for a second. “This is about that jacket with the silver beads and bright green embroidery, isn’t it.”

‘It looks awful.’

“I fear I must agree, though you seem to pull it off quite well, Sir.” A light blush dusted his ears as he realized just what he’d said.

Before he could take anything back, Galengar let out a breathy laugh. ‘That’s too kind of you, really. Enough about me, please, tell me about yourself, your family—if you feel comfortable doing so, of course.’

His teeth grazed his lip, chewing at the skin. “There isn’t much to tell, unfortunately. It would be a boring story, Sir.”

‘You may call me ‘Galengar’, if you’d like. It would be fine, especially when you have a pair of scissors at my throat.’ Said scissors paused at the nape of his neck, his guard having just realized the implications of his actions.

“Of course, Si—Galengar.” He turned over the name in his mouth like he was savoring it, trying not to let it go before its time.

‘And everyone has an interesting story.’ His words continued, Galengar a passenger in his own body. ‘I’ve found it’s what makes people people.’ And what makes monsters monsters, but that wasn’t something to think about right now.

A nod. “Wise sentiments, my K-Galengar.” So, it seemed that family was a no-go with him.

Glancing at Hastion in the mirror, he kept his hands steady. ‘I know you have questions for me. Just ask them already. I’ve never been one for these types of dances.’

Blood wet the tip of Hastion’s tongue, a flash of red against pink. “You have a scar along your abdomen…”

A puckered line running across the front of his hips, one that few could mistake for anything but for what it was. ‘Reikyani. I was in there for two months, three weeks, and four days.’

The air seemed to suck out of the room through the window, the breeze coming in through the window running cold and heavy. Tension governed Hastion’s motions, automated as his mind reeled. Not many would believe Galengar had ever set foot in one of Essren’s camps, never mind been detained in one. Though his tenure had been short, it was more than long enough to stalk his dreams and stain his body with scars.

“They sent my sister there.” Hastion’s voice was a quiet thing, as if saying it too loud would alert a higher force to something overlooked. “My ma to Korikyani.”

Two in his immediate family. What a tragedy.

A traitorous part of Galengar’s brain sat back on its haunches, offering up the idea to bring him into his project. No. That level of danger would be intolerable to all involved. Revealing his plans would be disastrous. Who knew if Hastion simply wasn’t a plant? A good-looking plant, with a waver in his words and a weight on his shoulder?

‘I could help find her, if you’d like.’ The words were off his hands before he could help it. Gods fucking damnit, Galengar. Keep your hands still for once.

Hastion’s words were careful. “I have been trying myself, Sir. There is no need to burden yourself with such matters.”

Watching his guard’s face, Galengar kept himself together as his hair was cut back bit by bit. ‘Could I at least have her name?’

The words came out of Hastion like it hurt. “Ademe, her name was Ademe Erro’ar.”

_Ademe Erro’ar, a young girl, hardly in her teenage years, hair cropped short and face bloody, a bold glint in her eye. They’d had similar hair colors, from what little Galengar could catch of her before the “students” were separated into their barracks. He remembered hearing how she’d cried the whole first month, sobs slowly giving way into uncontrollable trickles of tears, always staining her face. The Mother of Monsters had mercy on her, Her disciples welcoming her. Galengar had turned his eyes away; the_ ** _corruption_** _was never pretty to watch_.

‘Six years ago.’ His voice was hushed. ‘A young girl in her sixteenth year.’

“You knew her?” The hope was what broke his heart, formality forgotten in the thrill of novel information.

Shallowly, so as not to disturb Hastion’s work, Galengar nodded. ‘I can find her for you—help, at least. She fell in with Lady Illit’s children before the V-B negotiated my release.’

The scissors snipped, a tentative normalcy settling over them. If they closed their eyes, they could pretend they were peers, having a conversation. “I wasn’t aware you served, Sir.”

‘Oh, spare me.’ A soft chuckle wandered its way out of his mouth. ‘You didn’t think I was from  _ nobility _ , did you?’

“I must say, I’d assumed such, Sir. Oh—this is alright, yes? The haircut.”

It was ages better than anything Galengar could have done himself, and, for that, he was thankful. With a hesitant smile, he glanced up at Hastion, reveling in the way he could feel the heat radiating off of him on his back.

‘Your skills as a barber will be envied by all who see me.’ That small smile and blush was all he needed as a reward. ‘And, while I’m flattered, I’m simply a former palace guard from the Northwest Territories; nothing special.’

Dark brows drew together as Hastion made connections. Malaidor had been quite good at burying their records when the need presented itself. “I… I’m ashamed to say I was not aware of that, Sir.”

‘Galengar.’

“…Galengar.”

His eyes followed the motions of Hastion’s hand as he set another lock of hair down on the rapidly growing pile. ‘Gods and men, you could make a homunculus with all this material.’

A proper chuckle spilled from the man’s lips. “The king, his wife, his guard, and the second, smaller king. Only sheds a wee bit.”

Galengar couldn’t control his snort of laughter, grin wide. He felt light, like he was floating on his own neurochemicals, aftereffects of strong emotions drawing him into a high. Hm. He  _ should _ get high. If not now, then later. He deserved it. Maybe Malaidor would let him sneak something in, join him. Imbibing alone was far from a fun way to spend a night hiding from his duties.

Hastion’s shoulders shook with giggles, his voice like temple bells, calling for blessings. For once, Galengar let himself be washed with divine light, let himself be blessed. Purification should be more intensive than this, with its burning herbs and scented oils and cleansing baths, but it seemed the gods were shining down on him today, bestowing him such a gift, knitting a fragment of his soul back together with the holy voice of his guard.

‘When can he start?’ Bumping his hip against Hastion’s, Galengar caught his smile in the reflection. ‘I would  _ love _ for him to take over figuring out which of the noble families are skimping on their taxes. The books aren’t balancing properly, and the only thing left to check involves recalculating taxes for  _ all _ the families.’

Hastion tilted his head, one ear tipping down inquisitively. “It’s the Kiadrios family, isn’t it?” At Galengar’s confused look, he continued. “They assumed I didn’t know how to read lips. The patriarch declared that he wouldn’t pay more than two thousand flecks a month, damn all who tells him otherwise.”

That bastard. Galenger hissed out a groan. ‘He’s deluded if he thinks that will fly.’

A cut-off bark of laughter, so unlike the fearful, eternally respectful guard, burst out of Hastion. “If I may be so bold, I would say he is.”

‘Who am I going to tell?’ His smile only made that adorable blush darken. ‘It’s going to be quite fun to watch when Malaidor tears into him tomorrow.’

A breathy laugh marked Hastion’s acquiescence as the last bit of hair was cut. “How does this look, now?”

Great. Amazing. Incredible. Freeing. No word in Trade or Higherspeak or Ilvoni could hold a candle to this feeling. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, sliced from his head and placed on his sink counter like a holy relic. It wasn’t nearly enough to whet his hunger, but, with any luck, it had been the first step to ridding those ridiculously ornate scissors of their burden.

Running a hand through his hair, Galengar’s ears twitched up in happiness. ‘It’s good. I like it very much.’

“If the Elven Queen sends me to be hung…” Though said in jest, an undercurrent of worry ran through the man’s words.

‘Then I shall summon you right back, I promise.’ A pang of guilt ran through Galengar. ‘I don’t mean to keep you from your business, by the way. You’re more than welcome to leave, if you’d like to.’

A dazed understanding glinted in Hastion’s eyes. It… it was maddening how he managed to look so beautiful like this, strung out on emotions and exhaustion. Galengar was faring no better, though he didn’t even come close to his guard’s easy attractiveness. Those tentative, daring glances were going to drive him to the end of the world and back as cheeks darkened in near-imperceptible gradients. It had been quite a long time since his heart had beat in his chest like this, so different from the fearful hammer of sudden discovery or the drums of rage, but the brash, confident rhythm of excitement and passion.

He was not going to fuck his guard right now. That would be bad. They were tired and emotionally vulnerable. They shouldn’t.

Humming tunelessly, Hastion set down the scissors. The soft click of the metal coming to rest onto the counter echoed in Galengar’s head.

“May I?” That raspy voice was a siren song.

Nodding without knowing what he was agreeing to, Galengar let his wife’s jacket fall open ever so slightly, exposing more of his skin. Slow, exaggerated movements marked out Hastion's actions, the tips of his fingers gently travelling up the sides of his arms and drifting up his neck, politely avoiding his ears. When he ran his fingers through Galengar’s hair, Galengar understood, finally, why most elves claimed the scalp was an erogenous zone.

Hands left to alight on his shoulders, thumbs venturing out with exploratory circles. “You’re so tense, if I may say so, S—Galengar.”

A burning blush settled over Galengar’s cheeks. ‘Stresses of life, I assume.’

This close to his guard, his nose could pick out something under the cologne, something important and distracting. Magic, sharp and bright, like ozone and ice and forgotten memories. It played across his tongue, numbingly blue and tantalizingly silver. Maddening. It was maddening and familiar in its stark unfamiliarity. It shouldn’t exist here; there was no wild magic on Idran, there were no patroned allowed access to him like this.

“I could help with that, if you’d like, Sir.” Hastion was saying, boldness bringing a waver to his words.

‘Why do you smell of magic.’ It wasn’t a question so much as an accusation, Galengar’s movements crisp in their horror.

So, this was how he died. Galengar was the fool of fools to let someone get so close, to let himself be alone, to let himself get assassinated in a fucking  _ bathroom _ . His left shoulder itched, enchantment humming under his skin. Arcane ink awoke, black strokes hungering to be used. Emotions bubbled up, boiling, fueling and being fueled by the magic tattooed onto him. At least he could go out fighting.

Hastion blinked at him as he fished for a necklace tucked into his shirt, pulling out a burnished bronze disk covered in runes. “Sir, I’m your personal guard. Every senior official in the guards gets one—you can smell magic?”

‘When did that become the standard?’

He chewed on his lip, dropping his gaze. “It was already in place when I was hired. May I ask what I’ve done wrong, Sir? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

His words caught on his fingers. ‘One never knows who to trust, especially in times like these.’

A solemn nod hid a heart breaking. “I see, Sir. If it means anything, I would like to assure you that you have my loyalty. I live to serve.”

‘Please don’t say that.’ The warmth radiating off of Hastion’s form distracted him from his nausea. ‘There are far better things to live for.’

Charcoal eyes slipped down, tracing the nape of Galengar’s neck. “Um, when you asked me what I wanted earlier, Sir, I said ‘nothing’. I believe I have a different answer.”

Royal fingers tightened on cool granite countertop. ‘Do you?’

“You informed me that you appreciated candor, Sir, so I hope I do not overstep when I say that I would like to kiss you.”

Turning in the small space, Galengar felt the edge of the sink dig into his back. Hastion was flushed, pupils wide.

‘I would not consider it overstepping.’ He reached a hesitant hand out, brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind Hastion’s pointed ear before letting his palm cup his cheek, touch lighter than a feather. ‘Truly, I don’t think I could find you capable of such.’

A breathy laugh slipped out of Hastion, relief tinged with want. “I thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

When he pressed his head further into his king’s touch, Galengar’s heart stuttered, jumping out of his chest. ‘I would never want to make you uncomfortable. And yes, you may kiss me. You may even do more, if you’d like, I can clean up the hair later.’

“I believe,” Hastion leaned in, daring, to decorate his king’s cheek with little pecks, “that I would like nothing better, Sir.”

He wanted Galengar to take the lead, and so he did. As he took Hastion by the hand, thoughts and anxieties swirled about in his stomach. What if this was just what he thought the king would want to hear? What if the two of them were just drunk on emotions and exhaustion, not ready for this in the slightest? What if this was something Hastion would regret?

When he paused in his stride, strong hands encircled his waist, warm and comforting. “Is everything alright?”

His blush deepened, staining his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears, as he nodded. ‘If you don’t want to…’

“I want to.” Hastion assured, pressing against his king. “I very much want to.”

Those gentle hands lifted Galengar at his nod, setting him down on his bed with as much care as existed in the world. While Hastion kicked off his boots and stripped out of his overclothes, Galengar pulled the canopy closed, giving them the privacy afforded by dark blue cloth and rich amber stonelight. It cast Hastion in a gorgeous glow, like a painting come to life. He left his undershirt on, unbuttoned, enchanted amulet bumping against his strong chest, an old scar running up the center.

Royal fingers reached out, removing the pendant and brushing against sensitive tawny skin. The shiver that ran through Hastion was worth it, tent growing in his pants. Galengar set the charm on the nightstand, far enough away that the stinging ozone scent wouldn’t bother him. When he turned back around, though, his guard looked tired—no, drained.

‘Are you alright?’ He pressed his hand to Hastion’s forehead, though he didn’t find any change in temperature.

The man flushed, accepting the contact. “I’m perfectly fine, Sir. The amulets boost endurance and stamina, is all.” He let out a nervous chuckle, turning his face away. “As the captain of the guard, I don’t get much sleep. I’m quite fine, I promise. We may continue, if you’d like.”

‘I’m going to mandate guards sleep once a day.’ His signs were more a mumble than anything, but it turned up the corners of Hastion’s mouth.

That smile only broadened when Galengar pulled his guard in for a kiss, eager and wanting. They moved further to the headboard, enough room so that he could ease Hastion into his lap, hands trailing up his back to rub little circles into the hard muscles there. He could fix that, it would take a moment, but Galengar could fix that. Hastion’s own hands had looped around his king’s neck, body slotted against him.

Whichever one of them had opened their mouth first to let the other in, neither knew. But here he was, with his guard’s tongue playing across his, a pool of arousal in his stomach, his guard’s hardness resting against his leg. He wanted to hear that man moan for him, to actually make use of his own feelings for the first time in so long.

Pulling back, Galengar drank in the way Hastion nuzzled into the crook of his neck, pressing little kisses into the skin there. It had to be the most wonderful thing in the world, all this attention lavished on him. As he twisted around to fish out a condom from the nightstand, he ran his fingers through Hastion’s hair in even, calming strokes. With a pleased sigh, the man rested his head on his shoulder. In the time it took him to acquire the damned thing, his guard had closed his eyes, kiss-bruised lips parted slightly as his breath came in slow, steady motions.

Oh. Fuck. Okay.

Gently, so gently, Galengar laid his guard down on the bed, trying to ignore how the poor man was already half-naked. Did Hastion prefer to sleep this way? Would he get too hot; too cold? Should he wake him right back up and kick him out to his own quarters?

No. He couldn’t do that. Hastion would look too much like a sad puppy for him to be able to stomach being so cruel. It may have made him a weak king, but who cared about that, really? Who would be there to see his indiscretion?

Chewing on the knuckle of his index finger, Galengar considered his options. He could get his wife. He should not get his wife. Not that Malaidor would be cross with him, he just didn’t want to be the one to wake her up in the middle of the night for nothing important. Sleep was a precious commodity and she had a need for it more than most.

A second, tantalizing choice presented itself: Galengar could go to sleep. Just a few hours, enough that he wouldn’t be stumbling over his words tomorrow, eyes glazed over and unable to think. Sleep sounded quite nice.

That damnable siren song sang him into laying his head down and pulling the covers up over the both of them. Fuck it; if he could sleep relatively soundly next to fae that could look into his dreams with a thought, then he would be just fine beside his guard, even if they were half naked and Hastion had thrown his arm over his king’s waist with a mumble, burying his face into the warm body he suddenly had at hand, arousal entirely forgotten. Could he really say no to that? Under his guard’s not-so-watchful gaze, Galengar drifted off, listening to Hastion’s relaxed breathing, heart beating slow and strong in his chest.

The next thing he was aware of was the sound of his door opening, sunlight long-since spilled into the room. As he tried to reorient his senses, a warm weight at his side, Malaidor’s voice resolved itself, her steps loud in the room. She didn’t stomp, per se, but she was not one to be light footed—not in her own husband’s room, at least.

“You’re up late.” She was saying, voice easy. “When Andelli informed me that she hadn’t seen you for breakfast yet, I thought you were either kidnapped or dead, so it’s comforting to know of your continued existence.”

A light chuckle let her know he was awake. Glancing down, the image of Hastion, curled up into his side, eyes closed and face slack, greeted him. He was still asleep, looking far less exhausted than he the night prior. Maybe it was the lighting, but he had a youthful glow about him. A peaceful expression graced his features, dark hair framing his face like a halo. Had someone informed Galengar that his guard was the descendant of a god, he would have asserted that he had to be one of Kidtrioun’s children. No one could be this pretty, not first thing in the morning.

“Why do you have your curtain down?” Malaidor was asking as she lifted the heavy fabric. At the sight before her, though, she gave pause.

Before she could say anything, Galengar had his hands up, ready to sign his way out of this. ‘I can explain.’

She simply glanced at him, sympathetic, as she dragged over a chair to sit, amusement in her face. “I see you expedited that haircut. It suits you. Cute bedmate you’ve found, by the way.”

A soft groan sounded from Hastion. Groggy, he pawed at his eyes like it would make wakefulness come any quicker. With loose, clumsy motions, he propped himself up on his elbows, hair falling into his face, blinking blearily at the scene in front of him. A crease appeared in his forehead and Galengar wanted nothing more than to rub it out.

“Am I getting executed?” His voice, still rough from sleep, did things to Galengar when it got trapped in his chest. “…Sirs.”

Malaidor tilted her head at him, trying to determine the joke. “No… and ‘Malaidor’ is fine, especially if you’ll be staying in my husband’s bed.”

He just blinked as his brain processed what it was being told, ignorant to the way Galengar’s cheeks turned a bright red. “Alright, thank you, Sir.”

His mumble was nearly lost as he laid back down, rolling over to press the entirety of his back against Galengar’s side, claiming his king’s arm as a spoil of war. Despite his grogginess, his ears had still tipped up into happiness. Truly, he was adorable in his expressiveness.

‘Mor,’ Galengar turned to his wife, signing with his free hand as Hastion slipped back into sleep, quickly starting to quietly snore, ‘can I watch as you chew out the Kiadrios patriarch?’

Lifting her eyebrow, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles. “And why would I be chewing out the Kiadrios patriarch?”

‘They’ve been skimping their taxes, and I thought you might have a few more words to say about that than I.’

Her grin was wolfish, amusement turning predatory. “Be ready in an hour and a half. My therapist  _ has _ said that I need to work on genuine expressions.”

Oh, he wouldn’t miss that for the world. Not even if Hastion groaned and grumbled when he got up, dark eyes sleepily pleading for a few more minutes.


	8. I-2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A graduate mulls on his next steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big ol abuse cw, heads up

It was never good when Master was angry. Though he was never one to stomp, gliding through the halls on silent feet with an eternally pleasant smile on his face, his wrath demanded attention to those who could tell such things. Greeting people, he would make idle chitchat about the weather, spouses, children. No one would know how he fumed, not unless they had a reason to pay attention to these things.

Vakino had more than enough reasons. Every slight indicator to his Master’s mood had been carved into his memory with a dull knife, the ache of those scars keeping him awake in the night. Hands too still to be calm, resting innocuously at his Master’s sides, let him know just how explosive the situation had become. Steps came quieter, the rustle of clothing eliminated by some arcane hand as Master grew more and more dangerous. Had he been brave enough to look up, Vakino would have seen his Master’s face, perfectly controlled, the exact emotions that were expected of him in plain view.

The days had passed when he had been so brave. Bravery had eluded Vakino for years now. Hah. Funny how time passes when one isn’t looking, when one is distracted by so many other things. Not that he should be thinking such foolish thoughts; his Master was still furious, stalking through the halls to their chambers and Vakino was wasting his thoughts with useless reminiscing. Masters didn’t care for useless things.

Steadying himself as much he could, he went through the path they would walk in his mind. A simple walk, it had been worn into his recollection over the years, legs taking him through the intimately familiar voyage without input from him.

Passing through the gate of the family compound, the carriage had taken them through the lavish gardens, stocked with all manner of exotic plant life. After they stepped out of the vehicle, greeted by ever so polite guards, they had been led into the mansion proper, swallowed by gleaming white walls and aggressively clean windows. Not a single thing was out of place in Master’s manor, that was a certainty Vakino could have set his watch by—had he had a watch to set. Master liked order, and order would be maintained by any means necessary.

Ornate rugs decorated the hardwood floors, brushed to perfection. The Traveller itself would have thought it immaculate, untouched by any mortal hand. For years, now, this had been the surest thing in Vakino’s life. For all he withstood, all he was tasked to do, there would still be the Eragaj patterns underfoot, ushering him along, wonderfully numbing in their uniformity. Some nights, Vakino dreamed he were a part of those rugs, woven into their geometric imagery, identical to the point of conformity, harbored in the intrinsic anonymity.

He had never been one to put stake in dreams.

Opulence chased after him, highlighting his footsteps, quiet in the halls. Vakino didn’t cry much anymore, didn’t feel much of anything anymore. A tool didn’t cry, didn’t need to waste breath over nonsense and feelings. Vakino was an extension of his Master. It would do him good to remember that, even as dangerous thoughts bubbled up, threatening to undo all the work poured into him.

His Master led him to his chambers without a second thought. Vakino would follow; Vakino would always follow.

Entering the quarters, just as grand as Master wished, high ceilings and artfully painted walls declaring that a Lord lived here, Vakino noted that the maids had been in, tidying and dusting. Master had taken him off of cleaning duty after Vakino made one mistake too many. Mercifully, he had not broken his wrist as punishment.

Tucked behind a receiving room was the bedroom, curtains drawn against the evening breeze, though the shutters were open. Master liked higher temperatures, no matter how much it felt as if Vakino was drowning in the air itself. A bathroom was hidden away behind a closed door, large closets similarly sequestered. Everything in its proper place.

“Kneel.”

Vakino followed the order without a second thought. Master had had a bad day, after all. He was to help. This was his duty, his obligation.

Pacing around him, Master examined him from every angle. A hand tangled in his dirty blond locks, tilting Vaniko’s head into the stonelight for any trace of supposed immodesty or injury. He would never do such a thing to his Master, never go against his Master’s wishes and will. Vakino belonged to him and property didn’t go traipsing off to do whatever its foolish heart desired.

With a grimace, Master let him go as he passed in front of him. Before he could react, a hand cracked across Vakino’s face, hard, bright pain lighting up his skin.

“Thank you, Master.” The gratitude was out of his mouth before he had a chance to think. He was always to thank his Master for his punishment. It would steer him on the right path, help him remember his place.

“Stand against the table.” Was all Master replied. “Take off your clothes.”

As if in a trance, Vakino rose with a “Yes, Master”, undoing the delicate cloth wraps that held his clothing together. Ease of access, he’d heard it explained, his body was for his Master, and his Master should be able to easily access it. The ornateness of his vestments served to declare the wealth and class of his Master, it was a gift to belong to someone so well off.

Folding the expensive fabric and setting it onto the table, Vakino worked to strip his form of his undergarments while Master searched for just the perfect implement. There was no idle humming as he trailed his fingers across his tools—a sure sign that this would be less than pleasant.

No. That was a forbidden thought. Biting his tongue hard, Vakino ignored the way an insubordinate part of his body snarled at the cool air on him, at the way light cast his breasts in an orange light, at the dull ache between his legs that had yet to go away from his last servicing. This position, hands braced against rich wood and hips nearly flush with the table, made the scar on his lower stomach stand out even more, a puckered reminder of his time in the barracks.

Vermin like him weren’t to breed—it would be an affront to decent society to spread such flawed genetics. Who could imagine that, something like him bearing progeny. Every morning, he was to thank his Teachers for rectifying nature’s mistake. This was what the Gods would have wanted.

The smack of a cane against his ass burned like nothing else in the world. His hips thunked against the table, hard enough to bruise. Vakino held in the urge to whimper, to squirm away from the sharp ache. He was to be good for his Master. Tears hadn’t pricked at his eyes in years; Master was not one for crying or pleading. Vakino was simply to take his punishment, thank his Master with every blow, and remember this come next time. Disobedience would not be tolerated.

If only the man he had been in his youth could see him now. Rebellion had been his mainstay, the core of his personality. Anger and defiance, an unwillingness to yield, all rectified under the purview of his Teachers. They fixed him, molded his malleable mind with firm hands into what was desired of him. They gave him a life he would never be able to live had he never been given over to them.

When he realized his fiancée would never come for him, that she was the one who had demanded his insolence be rectified in the first place, Vakino’s heart had shattered into a hailstorm. She’d done the right thing, though. If he ever saw her again, kneeling at her feet to thank her for all she had provided for him would not be enough; a roof over his head, a Master willing to overlook his faults.

He took his punishment with a grace trained into him. No tears dared mar the surface of the table, even if a small, insubordinate part of him wanted to weep until that blissful numbness overtook him. Vakino was good. He lived to serve his Master.

Thanking his Master after every blow, even if it made the strikes come harder, he let his focus drift from his body. Masters deserved to be thanked. They would not keep an insubordinate pest that didn’t know its place for long. The table rocked against the wall with every blow, a pantomime of intimacy. Vakino would have laughed, if it didn’t remind him of his duties once his Master grew bored with work. Maybe not, though. Maybe he would be able to rest easy tonight. Master was not one for intimacy after these things.

Soon enough, it was over. The crack of the cane stopped, hung back up in its place. Stillness urged Vakino back into the present. No shuffling, no wood rocking against walls filled the room, just the patient, if heavy, breathing of his Master. This was all? Simply fifty or so lashes? Truly, Master was merciful today.

“Good. You performed adequately, pet.” Master confirmed Vakino’s swirling, disoriented thoughts. “Down.”

Down was good. Down was easy.

Turning, head still bowed, Vakino slid to his knees in front of his Master. His posture was perfect, drilled into him, even as hardwood flooring dug into his bare knees. He could feel his heart racing, his own breath coming in pants as his body coped with his punishment. He kept his eyes trained to his Master’s polished shoes. It had been a long while since he had been deemed aggravating enough to warrant licking them clean, but Vakino remembered. An important lesson to learn. Master did not suffer an ignorant pet, an annoying pet.

“This was not meant as a punishment, pet.” Good. Maybe he had a chance of redeeming himself tonight. “Though, I’m sure you are wondering what you have done wrong.” Those shoes left his field of view as Master took a slow, languid stroll about him. “The answer is nothing. You have done nothing wrong today.”

He lurked behind him, hovering in a blind spot that had driven Vakino to rage and snarl so long ago. How foolish he had been then. His Master owned every part of him, could do what he liked with his pet.

“You have grown into a capable graduate, pet. Should you continue on like this, you may serve to even make me  _ proud _ . It is quite rewarding to see the progress you have made since you were first gifted to me. Your Teachers would have been content.”

Hah. His Teachers would have been far from content.

_ There was blood in Vakino’s mouth. He could hear his new commander’s boots instead of soft dress slippers he’d grown so used to. His jaw ached. Everything ached. There was mud on his face and his own blood streaming freely from his nose. He was angry, so angry—how was it that his veins could have boiled like the bottoms of oceans back then? Had they truly been that successful in training that fire out of him? _

“In truth, it is outside matters that disturb me such.” A sigh from his Master. “I had an…  _ interesting _ … conversation with the king today. King Galengar, do note; that man is quite different from his predecessor. He can be an awfully bleeding heart sometimes, it’s a wonder he hasn’t bled out yet. I worry for the future of our country, dear pet.”

Hah. How interesting that Master should worry.

“I mentioned you, dear  _ fiancé _ , at the meeting of the noble families. Had I forgotten to mention that?” An unfunny joke, said only to make himself laugh. “They are so very excited to meet you.”

It had been a long while since Vakino was tasked to play that role, the doting fiancé, smiling and hanging on Master’s arm like they were equals, batting his eyes so foolishly. People strayed to discomfort when they realized the truth. Years down the line, and they still wished to deny what had truly happened up north. If they closed their eyes enough, they could forget why so many towns had been left depopulated, why so many spoke with Northern accents.

Well, that was fine by him. The willful ignorance was even  _ favorable _ at times. No one ever wanted to truly scrutinize his actions, not even the guards. Where pity aggravated and carved deep trenches into the land, blessed anonymity bloomed in the furrows. Graduates didn’t have their own thoughts, after all, everyone knew that. Especially not good graduates.

Luckily for him, Vakino had never been a good anything.

When Master spoke again, his words had a dangerous edge. “He gave me the impression that he  _ knew _ you, pet. Isn’t that odd?”

“Quite odd, Master.” Vakino’s tone was perfectly polite and demure, head bowed.

“Has the King ever toured the camps, Vakino?”

The newest one? Vakino hardly knew what he looked like.

“I do not believe so, Master.”

“Then, pray tell, how does he know you.” The hum that dripped from his Master’s lips belied his disbelief.

_ “For liars, fifty lashes. No meals for a day and night.” _ His instructor’s voice echoed in Vakino’s head.  _ Kneeling, the stone was cold on his bare skin, form stripped of clothing. They’d needed a good pet for the demonstration. It wouldn’t do to lecture the new recruits without a proper visual. _

_ “Their masters will not suffer a liar, so it is our task to rectify their deficits.” _

_ Hunger gnawed at his ribs, frail bones jutting out. A pair of stays—even a simple band around his breasts would have been nice, anything to cover himself, but that wasn’t granted to demonstrations or students of Reikyani. From his bowed position, he could make out the slowly healing bruises on his inner thighs, purple slowly morphing to yellow as memories faded into his skin. _

_ Four months. Four months to rewrite him, to fix him. Vakino would be good. To stop the lashes and the hunger? He would do anything. _

“I do not know, Master.” Perfect words, belted into him.

“Then maybe—” footsteps travelled back around, completing the loop, cloth-covered toes right under his nose. “I should have the two of you meet. I’m sure you will behave yourself accordingly, right, pet?”

“Yes, Master.” Of course Vakino would behave. The consequences would be dire…

Pride bled into Master’s voice. “Good. You have been so very good recently. Go wash up and I will see to your reward. You even managed to earn yourself a dinner tonight.”

No, he hadn’t. Vakino was being fed because the meeting Master had already scheduled was coming soon, within the next week, if his guess was accurate, and having him so gaunt and hollow-stomached would reflect badly on Master. One’s ‘fiancé’ fainting from malnourishment would certainly be cause for concern. That was fine by him; more food wouldn’t cure the fainting fits, but it wouldn’t hurt.

“Thank you, Master.”

He rose on silent feet, padding into the bathroom. Master watched him go with mild interest, closing the door behind his pet without a second thought. Good. Master was not a fan of seeing his pet take care of himself after punishment, unlike others Vakino had been initially placed with. This barest scrap of privacy was everything. That Master liked it when he turned on the tap to hide his noises, had likely wandered off to the farthest point from the bathroom, was the icing on the cake. He had never been keen on reminders on how to care for his pet.

The bathrooms in Master’s home had always been polished until they gleamed, bodily purposes obscured under whitewashed walls and decorative scalloping. Expensive, glass mirrors hung in them, the counter littered with paraphernalia deemed useful for pets to have: makeup, hygiene equipment, moisturizers, salves.

Away from his Master—away from  _ Terioak _ , he let his mask drop. So quickly did masters forget that pets, even the most well trained of them, had teeth.

Running the water, Vakino caught a glance of himself in the looking glass. The man staring back was far from the healthy, vibrant child of his youth or the strong-willed teenager with hair down to his waist. No. Here he was, face gaunt and tired eyes set deep in their sockets. His hair had been cropped short, barely brushing his shoulders. They wouldn’t want him to hang himself, after all. That would be such a waste of resources. Such a waste of effort.

Fine by him. Soon, this silly waiting game would be over. Time was ticking ever onward and Vakino was close enough to taste success. Triumph hovered at the edges of his fingertips like food through the bars. There would be no boot of his guard, coming down hard on his fingers, to control him.

Only a matter of days, hardly a week kept him from his purpose—his  _ true _ purpose, not that meaningless set of rules they had done their best to carve into his mind—would come to pass. Illit, Mother of Monsters, would guide his hand, would strike with the sword of his body. His name would be known across the land, not for his life, but for his death.

Vakino Tremlin, graduate of Reikyani, golden pet of the instructors, would kill the king, even if it stilled his breath.


	9. 1-7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Hastion's duties are not the most pleasant.

“Sir, are you alright?” It still sent a thrill though Hastion, speaking out of turn.

The king had not initiated conversation, had not even been glancing expectantly at his guard as he normally did when he wanted Hastion to speak up, and yet, Hastion had. This tentative, novel relationship filled him with such excitement. None of the nobles could bear witness to this, of course, but, even in the king’s rooms, away from prying eyes, it still made his heart race to watch his Lord work in his chambers as he perched on the edge of the ornate chaise, hands tense in his lap.

Not right now, though. Right now, his king looked minutes away from death.

Tired, not yet glassy eyes pored over the same reports for the umpteenth time, trying to find some minor discrepancy to explain away an error. His shoulders hunched into knots, the end of his pen chewed down to the inkwell. One well-placed bit and ink would stain his lips. King Galengar’s rumpled clothing revealed how sleepless his night had been, the fine fabric creased and mussed enough that even the palace laundry would have their struggles wringing it into some semblance of order. It simply wasn’t healthy, skimping out on sleep like this. As his liege’s guard, Hastion had a duty to protect him, even if it meant telling his Lord to go sleep.

A sigh marked King Galengar finally processing his guard’s words. ‘I’m fine, Hastion.’

“May I be candid, Sir?” Even if he had been told, again and again, to speak his mind, it never hurt to ask once more in case the rule had changed when he wasn’t looking.

‘I would insist on it.” His king replied, attention fixed on his work. His pen scratched out corrections with a severe black line.

Swallowing his nervousness, Hastion sought solace in the dark blue of his king’s curtains, pulled aside to reveal sprawling, palatial gardens. “You do not seem fine, Sir. To me, at least.”

The pen scratching stopped, silence weighing down on his shoulders. Wrong. Hastion was wrong. He was very, very wrong and had overstepped enough that his Lord would see to it that he was punished to within an inch of his life.

‘You’re right.’ The king sighed, one hand cupping his cheek as the other signed. ‘I’m not fine, but I don’t have the time to rectify that, so, for the time being, you will have to content yourself with this maladapted state I find myself in.’

Tentatively, Hastion inched forward on the chaise. “I may be able to help you, Sir—if you wish it. It would be an honor.”

An eyebrow lifted. ‘There isn’t much you can do; most of these are trade agreements Malaidor wanted me to take a look at. It’s simple, mostly, things she wants us to be on the same page about. Even if I could delineate the work, it would do me no benefit to shovel it onto your plate.’ And, after a moment’s thought, ‘It would do the opposite, really. I would have to check  _ your _ work as well.’

“May I help in other ways, Sir?” Hastion blurted out, forgetting his place in his shame. His mouth was going to get him in trouble sooner or later.

Pushing his hair out of his face, his king glanced at him, utterly unaware of how tantalizing he looked in this moment. Had Hastion lacked self-control, he would have leapt atop his king in a heartbeat, running pliant under royal hands, aching for his Lord’s touch. Luckily for him, Hastion did, in fact, have some modicum of restraint, even if his eyes lingered on his king’s hands.

‘You could take this out to Sair Adeline outside, if it isn’t too much trouble.’ King Galengar lifted a finished binder of papers, all marked up. ‘She’s to deliver this to Malaidor for review, so I had her wait in one of the sitting rooms. Come back afterwards, though. There will be more to ferry after a moment.’

Without a moment’s hesitation, he took the documents from his king’s hand, careful not to let their fingers brush. Such boldness would only go to his head, make Hastion drunk off of the proximity. Whatever this new relationship between them was, the last thing he wanted to do was damage it with his insolence and obliviousness. Few got to be so close to their kings, fewer to this one in particular.

He bowed politely as he turned, leaving the office to hand the stack over to the attendant lurking outside. He had seen her when he entered, too uneasy to fully follow her king’s invitation to make herself comfortable in a receiving room and electing to hang around his door, chatting softly with the guards on duty. Thinking they were sly, with their averted eyes and innuendo, they danced quite the familiar dance. How adorable.

Sair Adeline was a frail human girl, her dark hair coming down in ringlets around her shoulders and face acquiring a mousey quality. She was a kind person, though, and she took the documents from him with a smile and a thanks after asking of his day, dashing off to deliver them immediately. Her soft shoes made little noise on the floor, her pants billowy enough to swish, as was the current fashion in the courts.

This cycle had grown overly familiar to them all, especially now with Queen Malaidor sitting for more meetings with foreign officers and dignitaries, laboring to singlehandedly rebuild the continent’s perception of Galailan. It was quite an honorable task, honorable and nigh impossible, in Hastion’s humble opinion. That was alright, though—not many would fault her when she failed at reconstructing relations in the very countries her predecessor had so readily vilified. Her tenacity was more than admirable and the intentions behind her actions merciful.

Hastion wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that it didn’t matter too much whether or not they were free to trade across borders. Galailan produced enough food to keep everyone content and most had no need of foreign arts and fruits. In the case of Ilvon, few would get to use the technology brought over. Fewer would actually  _ want _ to. How anyone could be comfortable with contraptions that operated through invisible signals and impulses, Hastion couldn’t comprehend.

When he returned, closing the door softly behind him, his king had gone back to work. Judging from the amount he’d gotten through, he must have opened the next tome the instant Hastion’s back was turned, despite his insistence that he rest. Cheeky.

“I worry, Sir.” He kept his tone light and friendly as he sat down.

Grey eyes met his, one eyebrow cocked.

Hastion settled behind his Lord, posture at attention. “My Lord works so much. Though it is both impressive and appreciated, I worry that he will make himself ill with his workload.”

Huffing, King Galengar rolled his eyes as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. ‘You Lord isn’t going to fall ill, Hastion. At best, he’ll give himself a backache.’

“Backaches, when inflicted on the wrong person, can cripple a nation.”

‘Then that person must persevere.’ That attentive gaze caught how Hastion nibbled on his lip, straightening just that little bit more. ‘Unless a certain individual has an alternative that results in the work still being completed.’

He steeled himself with a breath. “He may, if his Lord permits a measure of physicality previously forbidden.”

A deceptively easy smile crossed King Galengar’s face as he turned his gaze back to his work, albeit toiling at a slower pace, with this added distraction. ‘He might, depending what physicality his vassal was thinking of.’

“He is trained in whatever his Lord wishes, though, the interaction he had in mind was more akin to a back rub than anything else.” His face was hot enough to burst into flame.

Silence stretched between them a moment too long. This was it. Hastion had fucked up. His king would call for his attendants and have Hastion dragged away where he would never have to see his face again. This was the punishment of foolish things like him, far too daring for their status and too idiotic to realize what their error was.

‘I suppose it wouldn’t be too horrendous.’ Came the reply, signed with deceptively steady hands.

How little did his king think of him that it would be anything but pleasant? Had he deigned to read his resume? Of all the things his Lord had asked of Hastion, this was something he was more that equipped to do and exceed expectations.

“Of course, Sir.” He said instead, hands alighting into the proper positions on tense shoulders.

King Galengar stiffened up under his touch, just barely restraining himself from any sudden startled movements. Handwriting stagnated for a moment before he relaxed his muscles, taking a calming breath. Right. Despite his emotions churning in his stomach like the worst soup made in eons, he would have to remember that trust was earned. Assassination attempts were to be expected when one sat on the throne and Hastion didn’t have a clean slate pertaining to his job. Had anyone seen them, they would surely assume that this was how the King of Galailan died.

Gently, ever so gently, Hastion let his hands slip over muscles, so tense that they might as well have been rocks. As the backs of his fingers brushed against his king’s neck, the man flinched violently, hard enough that his knee slammed into the bottom of his desk with a loud bang. Under Hastion’s fingers, his pulse was racing, a tremor shaking through his form.

“I-I apologize, Sir.” The words tumbled out of his mouth without challenge as he lifted his hands up. “I didn’t mean to…”

Didn’t mean to  _ what _ , exactly?

Shaking his head, King Galengar’s shoulders drifted back up now that their master wasn’t forcing them to relax. ‘It’s alright. This isn’t a good time for this, my apologies for misleading you.’

A couple of sliced syllables fell from Hastion’s lips as he struggled to make words of his thoughts, trembling making a home from his frozen hands. “There is no need to apologize to me, Sir. It is nothing at all.”

‘And yet, I still do.’ Sighing, his hand rubbed at his forehead. ‘Please, sit, if you’d like to.’ He tapped the stack of papers, a good four hours’ work. ‘You’re welcome to make yourself at home in this space; do whatever you’d like.’

“But… is there anything I might do for you, Sir?” Pleading would grant him no favors, disobedience less so. King Galengar was not one to be swayed by a pretty face.

The thought turned over in his king’s head. ‘Apart from making yourself comfortable? If you could ask for dinner to be brought up, that would be lovely, actually. I’ll take whatever Malaidor had made, thank you. Oh, and an unpeach tart.’

Dinner. He could do that. Hastion could do dinner quite well indeed. Rehearsing the order over and over in his head, he worked to fulfill his Lord’s commands, even if it sent a trill of anxiety through his chest every time he behaved so impudently in his Lord’s personal chambers.

*-*-*

Leaving King Galengar’s rooms, Hastion couldn’t help but let a note of pride glow in his chest. Despite his insolence, his king kept him around, if only to have his mindless ramblings as a backdrop. Truly, it was incredible how a man like that could be so patient with him after all the errors he had committed. Second chances grew on trees, it seemed, harvested from the depths of the royal grove by the basketful.

What a blessing that was, replacing Hastion’s thoughts with a sappy cotton soaked in honey and wine. Far too old to be doodling little hearts in his journal, he contented himself with daydreams that would never come to pass, the lovesick fool to his own overactive imagination. Not too bad a fate, if he could say so himself. Far more amenable to being chained to a dungeon wall or thrown into a kyani, off to be molded into a shape to please his superiors, passed off to a particularly pleasing noble. Perhaps the knowledge of his king’s tolerance would finally put him at ease this evening; his tour of the dungeons was overdue by days now.

The duties of a guard captain were both numerous and varied, the list stretching on to write itself into a book, meant to be read and memorized cover to cover. While the majority were banal, rote tasks, set to ensure everything was running smoothly—checking over the guard rotation and writing up infractions so the royal family could keep up to date with the goings on of their staff—others were less mindless. Even enforcing punishments was tolerable, if far from his favorite. The bulk of his day was governed by rules and codes, their verdicts immutable.

Making rounds in the dungeons, though, turned his stomach. Where his predecessor reveled in his daily laps of the compounds, promising that his charges never forgot his face, Hastion let his visits slip into something akin to a weekly schedule, longer when he could get away with it. His nerves always wore thin whenever he passed the entrance into the labyrinth of tunnels marking out the prison, thoughts of himself trapped down there, left to go mad in a cell the size of a closet plaguing his mind for days afterwards.

As he passed into the area allocated to the guards, quite the walk away from his king’s rooms, he couldn’t help but let the chill creep into his bones, despite the warm summer around him. Time had slipped away from him, the sun setting behind his king’s curtains as his ruler toiled over revisions and treaties, sending Hastion now and again to ferry a finished stack back to his wife. Bit by bit, the day faded until there was only night outside the window and a thoroughly distracted king.

Unfortunately for him, though, it left the empty barracks, arcane stones long-since burned out, for Hastion’s wandering pleasure. The guards had not cleaned up properly, exercising their defiance in what little ways they could. Chairs left untucked skittered in the gloom, and papers strewn about the desks, the room was far colder in the gloom. The only light came from the open door, long shadows cast across the floor.

With quick, familiar motions, Hastion approached one of the little trays holding the drained stones, stylized into a lion’s paw. Gathering himself, he exhaled deeply onto them, arcana in the little pebbles turning his breath into a cloud, drawn into the dull rocks. They lit up in a faint glow, just enough to illuminate his features. Though far from the most effective way to light them, he settled for something feasible and time efficient. If he’d gone off to get a lamplighter at this hour, he wouldn’t be in bed for a long time to come. This light would be enough for him, if only to transverse the room in some level of comfort.

Transferring a few small stones, bright enough to light the space around him, into other dishes, he let the arcana within them bring the whole pile to a faint gleam as the door slid closed, locking automatically. For the first few months, the clicks of the locking mechanism had unnerved him, a constant reminder of how the palace complex came alive with little tics and preferences. It liked that door to be locked, so locked it was. Who was he to argue with a structure older than the kingdom it resided in?

His keys weighed heavy in his pocket, iron ring crowded to the point of confusion. For every important key he had, a duplicate, marked by a hidden tell only he knew, joined its twin on his keyring. Even still, the one to the dungeons always burned a little hole in his pocket, perpetually too warm. The artificers still hadn’t provided him with a forgery that radiated that same heat, just cool enough not to burn, just hot enough to threaten to. What a joke that was, the captain of the guard creeped out by an inanimate  _ key _ .

Ahead of him, the door loomed, concealed to all but a sparse trusted few. It had been artfully tucked into the decorations in the wall, an entrance to prison hidden in the looping stone greenery. Hastion’s eyes traced the seam the carved vines made, crisscrossing over the door itself like tape at an Ilvoni crime scene. There he stood, the perpetrator of a crime only he knew.

His feet moved without any input from him, taking him to the segment of stone. Sliding the hot, wrought iron into a strategically placed bloom, Hastion heard the internal mechanism click, and the cold stone opened for him, sliding forward silently into a winding staircase, lit by perpetually burning lamps. This part of the palace, hidden to most, was the oldest.

Historians would kill to study these halls, to figure out how the lights kept going without any clear source of energy, flames never flickering nor wavering. Old technology—far older than anything created in millennia—thrummed under the royal compound, the work of the ancients serving its purpose long after its creators died out. No repairs were needed here, none by any mortal hand, at least. The dungeons had their own servants.

The walls were made of a thick limestone, the joints glowing with a faint orange light, thin enough that not even water could slip between the rocks, cuts precise enough to be made with powerful arcana. Above his head, the ceiling arched, cast into shadow from the lamps below. Underfoot, the floor was done in slick obsidian, a dark mirror reflecting his face back at him.

No mold or mildew dared grow here, either shocked by static-filled rocks that sent numb tingles up Hastion’s arm whenever his fingers brushed against the cool surface or scraped away by the dungeon’s overseers, quick with fixes and quicker with interlopers. It hung in the air, the sterility of this place, too silent, too hollow. This was the stomach of the palace, ever devouring.

Walking down the stairs, lamps growing brighter with each step, Hastion didn’t flinch as the door shut behind him, as soundless as ever. What was the use in having secret tunnels and rooms if, when one opened them, it was broadcast to anyone in the vicinity with working ears? The air changed, as if the building was repressurizing. It popped his ears, requiring Hastion to split his jaw in a yawn to accelerate the process. Every week, his ears popped; hopefully, his body would learn what happened down here at some point. At least the repetition made dealing with the uneasiness of this place easier.

Another door greeted him as he came to the landing, this one less ornate. It was a simple, albeit heavy, thing, made of the same stone as the walls around him, though there was no light emanating from the joints where giant blocks of limestone connected, thinner than a strand of Elven hair. A keyhole, small enough to be looked over, decorated in the center. There was no handle, no hinges on the door’s sides. The dungeons were nothing if not efficient. Down here, wasting resources was tantamount to heresy.

When he unlocked it, it split down the middle, each side subsumed by a wall as the path cleared for him. As always, one of the dungeon’s servants waited for him on the other side, his presence known the moment he had stepped in. They looked too humanoid for Hastion to feel comfortable calling them an ‘it’, despite the people’s professed apathy to how they were referred to. Though they had their head bowed, the instant he stepped over the threshold, those orange eyes flicked open, staring directly at him, as if to pin his soul to the ancient stones.

The first time he’d seen a lightling, the urge to bolt away and hide under his bed until they left was nigh overpowering. Instead of pupils, their eyes burned like little flames, casting a steady, umber glow. Unblinking, the only time they closed their eyes was to “sleep” in a standing position, hands clasped in front of them and head hung. Their mouths burned the same way as their eyes, bright enough that it hurt to look at, eyes needing to adjust to the comparable gloom of the warren he found himself in after they spoke for a prolonged period of time.

Their alabaster skin was on full display; lightling didn’t wear clothing, citing enforcement purposes. Disabling one without any loose fabric to grab grew difficult when one factored in their particular biological quirks. Joints were articulated like a doll’s, a faint orange glow emanating from the chinks in their skin, blinding when the limb was removed and dimmed when said limb was reattached without much fuss.

The underground portion of the palace dictated where they went, controlling its lightling’s days with a clockwork precision. Where repairs were needed, one could find a handful of them working to shore up walls and mend broken cells. They patrolled when guards went off duty, running like blood in veins of strange metal and long-forgotten stone. For all the palace guards were wardens, these were the true enforcers, seeing all.

The lightling in front of him bowed deeply, straightening with their hands clasped against their stomach.

_ “Hello, Captain Erro’a-a-ar.” _ Their voice was tinny, breaking on the “a” of his last name. What happened when lightlings got sick? Could they even get sick, or did they simply die, out of the way and taken care of without fuss?

Painting a pleasant smile on his face, Hastion did his best to be polite. “Hello. How are you?”

_ “The internal temperature of Agro’opoli is in adequate range. The humidity on block four is low. There was a temperature spike on block seven. All is currently in normal parameters.” _ They responded, monotone.

‘Agro’opoli’. The lightlings insisted on calling the dungeons that, even when people attempted to explain the geography of Galailan, the palace, the current ruling family. Nothing stuck. Down here, it didn’t matter who was in charge or what country they belonged to; the lightlings served the Agro’opoli, and the Agro’opoli alone.

“That’s good to hear. What happened in block seven?”

With a soft, creaking sound, the lightling straightened, raising their hands into a position mimicking supplication, palms up, one resting on the other.  _ “Prisoner 36123052953 had an incident. The matter has been dealt with. Do you wish to see Prisoner 36123052953?” _

Dealt with. Oh, Pet was not going to be a happy little camper when she saw him. “Yes, please.”

Without a word, they turned on their heels and began walking, not looking to see if Hastion was following them. He would be a food not to—the twists and tangles of the dungeons were ever shifting, the structure reinventing itself every morning to prevent escapes. No one left Agro’opoli without its say-so. To be down here without a lightling? That was tantamount to a death sentence, destined to wander around for all of eternity. Agro’opoli was not a fan of intruders.

Those same orange lamps lit the walls in the dungeon proper, trickles of light leaking out of joints in the stone. His footsteps echoed, contrasted with the faint, barely audible footfalls of the lightling. The obsidian floor, more durable than any known material, mocked his image back at him. Not a single scratch marred its reflective surface, uniformly perfect. To the prisoners, the constant sameness was nigh intolerable. When faced with their own visage, perpetually staring back at them from the floor, or the plain, off-grey stone walls that never wore down or chipped, they took out their building frustration on the guards.

Or themselves.

A not insignificant number complained that their reflections came to life when no one was looking, speaking in an unknown language until they overheard enough Trade to become fluent. After enough time, they reported items missing, their meals tampered with when they turned their backs, hands on them while they slept, nearly identical to their own, but with skin like ice. Hastion didn’t doubt those reports. Agro’opoli didn’t care, so long as the punishment fit the purported crime.

Taking him through winding halls, silent as the grave, the lightling stopped short in front of a familiar cell. The temperature in this section was far colder than the rest of the dungeons, a lingering effect of “dealing with” Pet. A thin coat of frost had formed over the obsidian here, melting in front of him and refreezing behind him as he walked. How kind of the dungeon, ensuring that he didn’t slip on its floors.

Past the bars—made of a metal that changed colors the more one looked at it—sat Pet, huddled up in a corner, knees drawn up to her chest and breath coming in white puffs. The golden scales on her cheeks glittered in the indirect light, teeth already bared in preparation. She’d heard their footsteps, smelt them on the wind. Cold, hard eyes glared at him under golden brows. Decades would be enough for anyone to learn true hatred, and Pet had always been an attentive student. Completely naked, she shivered, an all too human response. Scars littered her body, hair cropped too short to provide any semblance of warmth.

Her pallet, hardly a cushion at this point, had long-since been worn down to nothing, but she refused to accept another one. No one was particularly keen on dealing with her hissing and clawing enough to replace it, so that ragged excuse for a mattress remained. A small waterfall, ending in a drain, served as her fountain, shower, and bathroom, any waste she produced quickly dealt with. Everything else was bare, nothing covering the blank, grey walls.

“Good evening, Pet.” Hastion tried for a friendly tone. “How are you tonight?”

She must have been one of the saddest charges down here. Snatched from her home under Essren’s reign, she’d been deemed too dangerous to set free after his training, long-since gone feral in her cell, only taken out to serve as a living weapon for centuries. In Agro’opoli, her hatred was familiar, the routine soothing. Setting her free, without guidance or help—neither of which, she would accept—would be tantamount to sitting back as Dalitar was razed to the ground. There was nowhere else to keep her, not safely, at least.

The golden dragon merely snarled, hissing at him halfheartedly. With her tongue cut out so many decades ago, there were only so many sounds she could make.

“I see, well, it’s nice to see you too. I heard that something happened with the guards recently; can you help me understand?” Sitting down just out of her reach, Hastion, rested his hands on his lap. Pet’s breath wouldn’t have much range, not with the chill in the air and the medications she’d likely been force fed.

She spat at him once more, growling as she padded on all fours around the cell, before taking a seat close to the bars, frustration palpable. Despite her posturing and prowling, Pet knew enough to know when someone had no wish to harm her. She knew that Hastion never lifted a hand to her and snuck in snacks. Reaching her hands through the bars, she grabbed at the air, expectant. It had taken a while to convince both her and the lightlings that this was alright, all a part of the process to rehabilitate her. This prisoner was allowed to grab at things and make noises, so long as she wasn’t hurting anyone.

Chuckling softly, Hastion withdrew a chocolate muffin from his pocket, setting it in her calloused hand. Pet frowned, stretching her fingers out to him.

“What?” He tilted her head. “Are you not being fed enough? I don’t recall tweaking the meal schedule recently.”

Snapping her jaws, she pointed at the muffin, grabbing again.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have another.”

She frowned deeper, but withdrew her hands, tearing off bits of the muffin to stuff in her mouth. Grumpily, she checked to make sure Hastion was watching before thumping a splayed hand on the ground twice, tapping the tips of her fingers on the obsidian surface and sliding her hand behind her.

Right, it had been a little while since he’d visited. “The time got away from me, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware two weeks had passed. Now, can you tell me what happened?”

With a huff, she thumped her pointer and middle finger onto the ground, pointed to Hastion’s chest, and raked her fingers across her face. Letting her hand drop, she shifted positions, stretching out her legs in front of her. Almost as an afterthought, she made her hand a claw, zig-zagging it over her shoulders.

“A guard  _ attacked _ you?” Who had been on duty two days ago… Lance? Lance and Rakiten. “Wait. You mean to tell me they put you in the coldbox for  _ two days _ ?”

That was more than abhorrent. Even if Pet had been a Stronghold dragon, two days on ice was far too much. He’d be rectifying that immediately.

Nodding, Pet swirled a finger in the air beside her head and down to her hips, imitating long curls. Lance, then.

Hastion’s face fell into a frown. “I’ll be having words with him shortly, thank you for telling me.” To the lightling: “Lift her punishment, please. Immediately. Increase temperature by four drops.”

They looked down at him, reading from an ancient script.  _ “Under whose a-a-authority does this order come.” _

“Hastion Erro’ar. This matter is officially under investigation.”

_ “The punishment will be lifted, and files made available for your viewing pleasure, Captain Erro’ar.” _

It was going to be far from pleasurable to view those files, but that wouldn’t stop him. “Thank you. Pet, the king was wondering if you’d like to try going out again.”

The last time had ended quite… spectacularly. Asking would likely be better than surprising her with a trip to the surface—he would have less complaints from the architects tasked with turning molten slag back into a wall. Her mouth twisted, fingers tracing the smooth glass of her cell floor. Baby steps. It was enough that she was getting daily exercise out of her cell nowadays.

Her nod came as a shock, the small, fearful gesture speaking volumes.

“Alright,” instilling his voice with as much ease he could, Hastion tried to hide his surprise, “I can arrange that this week or the next. You will be informed, so don’t worry about being taken up at random times. The king is very proud of your progress, you know.”

Pet didn’t respond, instead drawing up one knee into her chest and letting her gaze slip from his. Even after all this time, she still hesitated when someone spoke to her like that, with that soft, gentle tone. That was a fair response, really. Two years of kindness did little to erase decade upon decade of beatings and training. It would be a long time before Pet acted on her own, a longer time still before she interacted with others willingly.

Still, progress was progress and Hastion’s thankfulness to the Orcic psychiatrist working with Pet only grew by the day. Va’kri worked miracles with her, though he had had his reservations in the first few months. Now, the task turned from getting her able to coexist with others in the room to teaching her sign, a monumental task, considering Pet wasn’t too keen on communicating with anyone save Va’kri, Hastion, and King Galengar. Someone else learning their home-made sign was quite unlikely, given its complexity, but it was what she preferred, even when the king signed to her properly.

“I know we haven’t spoken much, but I have to go. Sorry, Pet.” He shifted his weight in preparation to get up, the cold floor doing him no favors. “It’s late and I need to do a round. I’ll see you soon, though.”

Her eyes followed him as he rose, overbright in the diffuse glow. It killed him to do this, to walk away and leave her to her thoughts. Pet was not one to get much interaction—she wasn’t one to act out for it, either. No, Essren had conditioned her to accept this empty existence, cold walls and sourceless orange light, everything down here just unfamiliar enough to never feel like a home.

Home. What an odd concept now. The lightling led him along identical hallways, turning and winding in unfamiliar directions. Could someone ever consider this place a comfort, this place a home? How long would one have to stay here, sleeping on their pallet and eating the same, bland food, speaking to their reflection until it spoke back, to make them wish to return here as soon as they were released. Whose idea of freedom reigned here?

Now and then, cells would pop up for Hastion to examine the occupants within, Agro’opoli requesting that he check its contents for anyone that needed an alteration to their storage. Few prisoners glanced at him, and yet fewer spoke. An understandable reaction. Here came their warden, sword clinking at his side, to check if they were still alive. For those that retained their tongues, it was a taunt, a test of their good behavior. Tight smiles and nods made up the bulk of his visit, the lightling walking him to wherever he asked. Most of his charges here were meant to be rehabilitated, slowly reintroduced to the outside world, but as time ticked on, that task proved harder and harder.

Out of the winding hallways, a very familiar cell appeared. Its aura preceded it, the air growing heavier, colder. It held a different quality from Pet’s punishment—rather than a meat locker, this chill worked its way deep into his bones. The permanence unsettled the guards almost as much as its prisoner, lurking in the center of her own labyrinth.

Drawing his jacket, woefully insufficient for this wintry weather in the middle of summer, closer to him, Hastion watched his breath come in puffs as he approached. Here, the ice on the floor had grown thick, sand atop it allowing for his boots to grip on the slick surface. He could feel the tips of his fingers going numb, even when he shoved his hands into his pockets, closing his summer uniform as much as he could. Why he hadn’t stopped by his rooms for a cloak… well… he could only excuse that with sleep deprivation.

Before long, her cell came into view, the heart of this cold freeze. Cathon was a tricky charge; her body would rot if left in standard temperature without more components, leading to the meat locker that housed her. Keeping her in, too, had its own challenges. She only needed to eat and drink once a week, metabolism slowed by a combination of her arcane experiments and the cold. It fortified her, though, strength building in frozen flesh.

Hastion repressed a shudder when his eyes landed on her form, dressed in a skintight black suit that served more to keep her together than protect her from the elements. No shivers wracked her sallow skin, any reflexes to do so long deadened by the prolonged frost and tweaked by magic. Barefoot, she padded around her cell silently, moving from corner to corner. Four arms hung from her shoulders, the lower two at her sides and the upper two folded over her chest.

To call her skeletal would be an understatement. Her body had been built from the skeleton up, augmented with whatever she wished. Nigh invisible stitches trailed along her joints and muscles, bones adjusted to her will without a second thought. Six fingers on each hand, she’d woven herself an entirely new form, inserting the legs of a panther where human would have been, though those had been covered by the skintight. Seeing an expanse of human-like flesh stretched over the thighs and calves of a big cat was… not the ideal thing to see.

Sclerae stained completely black from her patron and irises bleached a pale white flicked to him, mouth already splitting into a smile with far too many teeth. “Good evening, Captain.”

Her voice rasped like metal on metal, vocal cords straining to function in the body they had been put in.

“Good evening, Cathon. How are you?” He stood away from the bars, far enough that Cathon’s fingertips wouldn’t be able to brush against him. Too many guards had become fuel for her, material to use.

Laughing, she didn’t bother brushing a lock of short, white hair out of her eyes. “I am as I always am. Something special must bring you to see me after so long.”

Every word she spoke was like ice creaking underfoot, as if Hastion were in the center of a frozen lake and the surface was about to give way.

“How perceptive you are.” He forced a smile to his face as she approached, the pallor in her face doing little to hide a bruise forming under her left eye. “You will be getting a new psychologist soon, her name is Talvoni Kribino and her specialty is patroned prisoners.”

Those eyes lit up at that, her grin only spreading wider to show off mismatched teeth. This close up, he could smell decay and mothballs, the scent of a corpse rotting slowly, kept together by magic and very precise stitches. Unbreathing, unblinking, she wrapped her upper arms around the bars, lower cradling her cheeks in a pantomime of excitement.

“Is that so? Quite exciting indeed, then.”

Hastion nodded, fighting down his shivers. “It is. Though, considering what happened last time, I doubt that his Majesty will acquiesce to giving you more free reign than you are already accustomed to.”

Pouting, she tilted her head to an angle previously thought to be unsurvivable. “Oh, please. You know me, my Captain! What’s one mistake in fifty years? I learned my lesson: no experimenting with unsanctioned resources. I think a little looksee on the surface wouldn’t hurt.” She held out her bottom wrists, as if ready to be cuffed. “I’ll even submit to restraints, no tricks, no tests.”

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, Cathon.” In all his time here, she had not once hankered for the surface.

Her face fell, an uncharacteristic seriousness. “Yes, I can imagine. I…” Inverted eyes slipped from his. “I loved my work. I loved my work very much. True, my work was what sent me here, but, as time goes on, I realize I cannot wait out the clock.”

“Cathon,” what she was suggesting was beyond impossible, “you realize all the reasons we cannot let you do that? It isn’t even up to me, the—”

“No.” Her interruption came quick, gaze snapping back to his, electrified. “You misunderstand. I want to help. Something’s coming, everyone can feel it. Something’s coming, and I don’t want to be trapped down here when it happens. I… I know more about necromancy than anyone of my era. Let me contribute, even if through medical journals.”

She was the best, there was no argument about that, but the value of her expertise paled in comparison to safety. Setting her free, even to pursue supervised studies, would extend a level of trust to her that none had yet attained. It chilled him to think about, how many people he could sentence to death with a decision made in too great haste. How many people would have to be brought to heel for her if they let her metabolism accelerate again, body rotting without an intake of new material to replace it with.

Sighing, he rubbed at his temple. “I would have to confer with the King about it, but don’t get your hopes up. For all that you could help, do not forget your history of behavior.”

That put a damper on things, her hands retreating from the bars to pick at frozen nails. “Yes, I’m aware. Thank you in advance for bringing it up, though.”

“Of course.” He said, artificially calm. “If that is all, then I must see you off.”

“Wait.” The word was out of her mouth before she could think about what she was saying.

He paused, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Cathon’s eyes wandered down to his feet, hands tight against the bars.

Her words were a whisper. “What happened with my son was an accident. Project forty-seven got out and… and there wasn’t anything… I didn’t want him to…”

The most she had ever spoken of it. It had taken the mortician days to piece him back together.

“Then you can understand why we’re hesitant.” No malice made its way into his voice. “We just don’t want anything like that to ever happen again. Hopefully Sair Kribino will bring you some semblance of peace.”

She nodded, retreating back into the cell. “Yeah. Peace. Watch yourself, my Captain. My reflection’s been speaking of breaches in trust recently. It would do you well to remember that.”

“Of course, Cathon. I shall keep it in mind. Until next time.”

“Until next time.” Something in her voice let him know she didn’t expect next time to come.

With that weighing heavy on his mind, he started the long walk back, chill lingering in his bones. Nausea followed him as he bid his lightling goodbye, locking the dungeon up behind him and making his way out of the guards’ office. His legs took him to his own room, bringing him to sit at his table after washing the scent of cold stone and eerie light off of his hands.

Still, everyone was both accounted for and doing fine. That was the summary of his visit he wrote in his report, body moving automatically. His king would be eager to read this, to see if they had any progress with the prisoners. Any disappointment didn’t put Hastion in danger. Miraculously, his king accepted his reports without question or complaint, only summoning him when there was a question about something or other.

His king was… his king’s kindness exceeded logic, letting his guard get comfortable in his personal chambers like it was the most normal thing in the world. What would he say if he could see how his captain lived, in cramped quarters, blinds eternally shut against the night? Those thoughts consumed him as he walked back to his quarters, nodding at the night staff he passed.

Guards were not afforded the best rooms and Hastion had let himself be passed over for something more extensive upon his promotion. Having luxurious rooms would only antagonize him further to his people and it wasn’t as if he spent enough time in them to notice the dull, faded wallpaper, the way the doors between his common room and bathroom creaked when the weather turned, the way his carpets were just a tad threadbare. All his things fit in the closet and the dressers, and he had enough space and privacy to do whatever business he needed, so what was there to complain about?

Despite the lewdness of the gesture, Hastion ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. Sequestering himself off in his quarters had lost its charm long ago. For how annoying doing work in the royal library had been, he found himself missing the bustle and people. Working by stonelight, though romanticized, was far from ideal on his eyes and the solitude was beginning to eat at him.

That, and his chair was growing uncomfortable, making his bottom and back ache like no tomorrow. Perhaps he should get a cushion—that might help, though how much, he didn’t know. Tension was the likely culprit, but there was little he could do to alleviate that. The next time he was out, he’d look into some sort of padding. That, or a topical muscle relaxant. Yes, it was a bit overkill, but at least he could be assured that it would work.

Resting his forehead on the cool wood of his desk, he took an assessment of himself. His back hurt, that was familiar enough. His back hurt and his stomach turned over in his core, eager for anything to distract him. Today had been stressful enough and his evening reports did nothing to alleviate that. As much as his king tried to make Hastion comfortable, it only served to drive up his blood pressure—what did he  _ want _ him to do, how did he want him to act? How was Hastion to be comfortable and at ease with those pretty eyes watching him, his Lord always listening in, asking if he could do anything…

Had he been in public, Hastion would have berated himself for these types of compromising thoughts. Not many would dare call their king the epitome of beauty, the bastion of grace, even in their own thoughts. It was dangerous, playing with fire like this. When had anyone called Hastion a coward, though? What was a little bravery, withstood quietly in the confines of his own room? It wasn’t as if anyone would barge in this late at night.


	10. 1-8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are times when a gentle voice and a firm hand are required.

Walking in on her husband’s personal guard was hardly what Malaidor intended to do today. Walking in on him… remedying a physical issue even less. All she had wanted was to ask if he had sent in a few files for her to look at and, finding him off shift—a rare thing, these days—elected to drop by his room. The night was still young, and he was likely still up, from what she had gleaned of his sleep schedule. Like a normal person, she had knocked and heard a sleep-slurred “come in”.

Unlike a normal person, she was faced with the sight of her husband’s personal guard, sitting at his desk, pants unbuttoned and face horrified. She almost laughed at his shocked expression, staring at her as if he hadn’t granted her entrance. His cheeks heated up immediately, scrambling to cover himself, trying to protect her already-shattered purity, stuttering syllables that could have been apologies.

“Good evening.” She said calmly, folding her hands in front of her.

Those ears tipped down deeper into shame. “I-I apologize for my s-state—I am—”

“You’ve done no harm by me, I was just a bit surprised, is all.” Closing the door behind her, Malaidor glanced about the room, looking for a chair and finding none, save the one currently occupied by her half-naked man. Hah. When had she started considering her husband’s guard hers? “You bade me enter, so I was expecting something… not… that.”

His words were a pitiful croak. “I said ‘one minute’, Your Majesty.”

It was her turn to be mollified. “Oh. Then I appear to have misheard. If you like, I can come back another time. I simply had a question regarding some paperwork you had yet to submit.”

“You may stay—again, I must apologize—” He fought the waver out of his voice, ducking his head down, trembling. Ears tipping down into terrified shame, he recited the script he had been taught. “It is an honor to serve my Queen.”

Malaidor adjusted her mantle with a sigh, the fabric far too heavy for this weather. “There is no need to be uncomfortable for my sake. Much like my husband, I admire candor.”

The gears in his head turned over and over, analyzing his options. While he thought, Malaidor took the time to glance around, curiosity getting the better of her. Inquisitiveness was an unbecoming trait for a queen, but Hastion was not one to blab about the royal family’s unsavory traits.

His room was frugally furnished, the worn, hardwood floors covered with a single threadbare rug. The design had long-since faded into colors and shapes, forgotten here by its initial purchaser. From what Malaidor could glean, the guard likely hadn’t bought it himself. His walls, too, were bare of decoration. No painting or posters hung on them—not even cutouts from magazines. Instead, pale blue and yellow wallpaper slowly faded, fresh from her coronation. Had he thought they would consider it a slight if he redecorated or painted over the colors of her dynasty? If he asked for better quarters?

“Your rooms are quite small, for a guard captain.” The observation slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it, familiarity loosening her tongue. “My apologies, I don’t mean to be too forward.”

His words came in a rush. “You aren’t, Your Majesty. It would be an honor to host you, if you might permit it.”

“’Malaidor’ is just fine. It’s worked for twelve decades well enough, and I see no point in changing that.” With the doors to the bedroom and bathroom closed and the shade pulled down, his common room looked cave-like. “My first question regards the upcoming ball, and the other Lord Terioak.”

Test the water before asking any favors. One never knew when one guessed an allegiance wrong. For all Malaidor knew, they were bosom brothers. Yes, it was quite unlikely, but the more probable concept of Hastion working with certain factions was not only plausible but possible. Nothing wrong in a little protectiveness. Taking him out of the equation would be a headache for her.

“I am afraid I am not too familiar with him, Y—Sir, but I will endeavor to answer to the best of my ability.” Dark grey eyes lowered from pale white. Honest. Good.

“Your honesty is appreciated. May I sit?” If her husband trusted him… Malaidor was not one to doubt Galengar’s decisions, but, if he let his feelings get the better of him, it would be a situation indeed.

Zipping his pants up, the guard leapt to his feet, eyes darting from chair to desk to bedroom door and back again. What a challenging riddle this was: offer her the chair he had been about to pleasure himself in and risk her ire, offer her the table like she was his equal, or offer her his bed, with all the implications that entailed. The poor thing. If only he knew she wouldn’t complain with any of those options.

“There are no places to sit in this room that would be amenable to you.” He said slowly, turning his words over in his mouth like he could taste a trap. “If you would permit it, there is enough room for you to sit on my bed. I do not mean this in an indecent way, I merely do not want to overstep.”

How daring. “I see no fault in that. Please, if you would lead the way.”

“Of course, my—Sir.” So, Galengar hadn’t gotten him out of that habit yet. Well, a lesser honorific was better than her full title after every sentence.

Artificially placid, Hastion led her through the door guarding his bedroom, bowing his head to her as she entered. Inside, a clean room and a well-made bed greeted her, sheets the standard afforded to guards. Were they not paying him enough to get more supplies? She needed to check, both the income he was receiving and how it adjusted to prices of things. Getting inflation under control had not been the easiest thing and mistakes were to be expected, but this? This would be quite the egregious error. How had her husband overlooked such a thing?

His clothes had been tucked away into his closet and the floors swept to within an inch of their life. Here too, the shade was drawn, and nothing hung on the walls. Did he truly enjoy living like this, only the basic essentials on display? Did the glittering opulence of the royal chambers unnerve him? While the royal pair hadn’t had the time to decorate to their tastes, they still enjoyed the paintings and the views afforded to them.

Motions stiff, Hastion gestured to the bed. “Sir, please take a seat, if you would like.”

With thanks, Malaidor obliged, him, slipping off her mantle and folding it in her lap. The heat in the room was getting to her, rivulets of sweat taking their sweet time running down the hollow of her back. Hastion adopted the posture he used when guarding, spine straight with his hands at his sides, legs parted. Well, training didn’t exactly cover how to react if one’s superior was in their bedroom, did it?

“You may sit too, if you like.” Malaidor patted the bed next to her. With her conversation partner beside her, she wouldn’t have the pesky issue of eye contact. “There’s no sense in you standing while I sit; you’ve had the longer day, I gather.”

“My Lord is too kind. I could not accept such undeserved generosity.” His eyes fixed firmly onto his feet.

Fingers picking at her skirts, Malaidor kept her voice easy. “I wouldn’t say this generosity is undeserved. My husband praises you greatly, and it is at his insistence that I am here. I would prefer that we speak as equals—consider this a favor.”

Wide, dark eyes blinked at her as his legs took him to where she had gestured on the bed, sitting down without a word. Even then, his posture was a ramrod, hands knotted in his lap to a script drilled into him. So long in the presence of the royal family, and he still felt so disquieted by them, felt the need to perform so perfectly for them.

Maybe it was just her. Galengar spoke of breakthroughs and conversations and fondness, but all Malaidor saw was his blind panic, as if she would be the one holding an axe over his head had he committed an error. For all she knew, she was, in his dreams, at least. Being the Stone Queen did her no benefits and gave her no sway over her people, even as treaties strengthened borders and trade networks. Well, she would do this nonetheless, if only to see her husband smile.

“Has the guest list for the Adilan Ball been finalized yet?” Yes, it had, but it was more important to know how regularly Hastion checked on these sorts of things.

The Adilan Ball would be the event of the summer, celebrating the coming fall and marking the end of the heat. Not that the recent weather had cooperated much. All the nobles would be there, even if they wished they had other plans. New outfits would be created, pertaining to the new styles, and the youths would be tittering amongst themselves, seeing who would be taking whom, on whose arm would the younger adults be presented.

He looked relieved to get such an easy question. “Yes, Sir. As expected, the dynasties will be attending, with the addition of their declared children. Neither Lord Theolin nor Lord Hekion have declared a partner, though Lord Evina had expressed a wish to bring her newest partner. Lord Nadja has consented to this, and the partner is currently under investigation, but will likely serve no issue. Lord Terioak has requested to bring his new fiancé, also under investigation. As for the petty nobles, most of the youths have requested partners and approximately half have been cleared, Sir.”

Good. Very good. That he hadn’t been utterly swamped by this amount of work was remarkable. “Thank you, Hastion. I appreciate all your hard work. Do you project that you will be finished next week while maintaining quality?”

“Yes, Sir.” His words were automatic. “It is an honor to serve.”

She nodded. “I would like you to investigate something else—you will get wages for it, of course—that needs the utmost discretion.” That was a horrible way to phrase it. The look in his eyes shifted from fear for his own life to fear for another’s. “It relates to my second question: I would like you to take a look at the leanings of the noble families and dynasties, see how keen they are about Oridions on the throne, with a special focus on tertiary members of the Kadrios and Seli’in dynasties.”

His eyes found his lap as he twisted his fingers into knots. “Of course, Sir. You may consider it done.”

Voice soft, Malaidor focused on the texture of the fabric under her fingers. “You may take your time, you know. I wouldn’t fault you for that. I’m sure there’s more than enough on your plate already.”

“It is an honor to be able to help you, Sir.” Another scripted response.

“Hastion, you know you have nothing to fear from me.” Looking up, she could see the way his hands trembled, gripping his pants tight enough that his knuckles turned white. Not many found themselves this close to the Elven Queen. “Galengar is a fan of you, and I trust his judgement. He simply wished to admit you into our endeavors, considering you spend more than enough time with us.”

He swallowed, teeth chewing at his bottom lip. How he hadn’t worn a permanent hole in it yet was shocking. “That is very kind of you, Sir. It is—”

“An honor, yes.” She finished for him. “It is an honor to do anything. Please, do not be afraid. We are not nearly as cruel as we have been made out to be. I do not wish to be your master any more than my husband. Had I wanted a pet, I would have gotten myself a dog, not a captain.”

“I believe you.” The words came out in an impulsive rush. “Sir. I believe you, Sir.”

The poor thing looked like he was about to die, melt into a puddle of shame and fear right on the bed.

“Malaidor.” She adjusted her gloves with slow motions.

A pause.

“Malaidor.”

Her name in his mouth was a quiet thing, like the syllables could burn his tongue if he was too eager to use them, just daring enough to let it out. And here he was, braving the flames, reaching out with an olive branch. Good. Very good. If he could actually speak to her, that meant there was room for progress, room for them to regard each other as equals.

This close to him, she could smell the acrid notes of the dungeons on his clothes, frost and ice lingering on his collar and electric musk on his hair. Damp hairs clung to his brow, wet from his sink. Had he washed his face? Tried to scrub the Agro’opoli from his skin as best he could? For all its repulsiveness, the scent of the dungeons was one to cling, an identification measure. When she had first smelled it, she had taken a bath lasting half a day, scrubbing her skin red.

Cramped, dim quarters grew cozy, hushing her words. “I hope you will not fear me for long.”

His shoulders tensed and she wanted nothing more than to smooth out that wrinkle between his brows. “Do you truly value candor, Sir?”

“I do indeed.” If the fae had taught her anything, it was the power of honesty. Truth wasn’t so much a double-edged sword as a rifle with its sights set on anything that moved.

“Even if it is damaging?”

“Especially then.”

Taking a deep, wavering breath, he stared straight ahead, searching the wallpaper for any sort of omen, any sign that would aid him. “It is not you I fear, but the repercussions.”

“Then let me dissuade you of that.” Her eyes traced his jawbone, watching the way his lips so carefully formed words. “Nothing will come of it if you treat me or my husband as an equal. We have not been bred to be royalty and thus do not mind the indiscretion. I’m sure you can only imagine how the past few years have worn on us, with the constant formality.”

The crack of a misplaced laugh would have otherwise marred his voice, had it not been so adorable. “Thank you, Sir. I endeavor to serve you well.”

“Hastion, please look at me.” Eyes, widened by daring and dark, latched onto her face, breath hitching. “I do not want to be your superior. I am trying to repair a nation, and so I have neither the energy nor time to pretend to be any better than you. I would greatly appreciate it if you honored that.”

He blinked at her, mouth flapping open and closed as he tried to find the words. “My Lord is—”

“A woman from a depopulated dynasty and in therapy for extensive trauma during my childhood; it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She interrupted, tone light and easy. Had she been a God, she would have long-since run asunder from her worshippers.

A hesitant chuckle wandered its way out of his throat, worried, but willing to accept her morbid attempt at humor. “I’m a man from a family torn apart by the kyanis, here because of a vain hope to make change, nice to make your acquaintance.”

He caught the faint smile on her face, reflecting it back. It was a wonder how beautiful he looked when he was even a little at ease; she could understand her husband’s tastes. His eyes were like the space in between stars, hair like shadows at the edges of well-loved rooms. It looked soft. It looked very soft.

“I would not wish to take you from your duties.” His voice was quiet, as if not to disturb the air between them. “But I thank you for your attention.”

Malaidor shook her head, letting her legs swing over the edge of the bed. “I am always being stolen away from something or other. This just happens to be one of the more favorable stealings I’ve had recently.”

“I am happy to hear my presence is well received.” That endearing blush had returned, full force, wandering out to the very tips of his ears.

“It isn’t often that I have such pleasant conversations in the middle of the night, not with those I am not wed to, at the very least.”

A lock of hair had come loose from her coiffure, fleeing the oppressive regime of braids and pins. Without thinking, she tucked it behind her ear, a nasty habit her husband had gotten her into. The error was immediate in the way Hastion’s very body seemed to withdraw into itself, anxiety and worries palpable. Right, who would want to do such a dangerous thing as sleep with one’s charge’s spouse. Then again, something he was quite eager to hide in his pants told a rather different story.

Before he could stutter out some excuse of Malaidor likely being tired, she tilted her head, gaze watching the bridge of his nose to give the appearance of eye contact. “I can leave you to that, if you’d like.”

“I am content with anything my Lord would like.” Gods damn it. “Though I do appreciate the conversation. My Queen is quite generous, and it—”

“If you speak of honor one more time, I fear I will choke on it.” That low, joking note was back, a glitter in her eye.

He seemed to get the message. “My apologies.”

“Think nothing of it.” Letting her eyes wander around the room, she instilled a noncommittal vein in her words. “You know, if you’re keen on my husband, he’s a fan of others initiating. Neither of us would bite your head off for that, though he bites if you ask very nicely.”

Hastion’s thoughts dried up into hoarse stutters, trying desperately to find some hidden meaning in her words. “Thank you for your advice, Sir.”

“Of course. You spend enough time around us, what’s a tip here and there? That, and I owe you a favor now, don’t I.”

His breath caught in his chest at how remarkable a concept that was. Well, if her husband was into someone like this, who was she to get in between them? If Hastion were to join their family, he would be afforded the same blessings Galengar was, even if it took a bit of adjustment on his part. An in-depth conversation on this could come later. There was no need to put more on the poor man’s plate.

His shoulders hunched, a crack in his perfect posture. “I would hate to be a burden, Sir.”

“If you were, I would tell you so myself.” The floorboards underfoot would need to be replaced sometime in the next decade, given how much they creaked with the slightest motion. “I fear I must ask: do you feel that you are not paid enough, Hastion?”

His head jerked up, eyes glimmering with sudden terror. “I—uh—t-the allowance I am afforded is more than enough, Sir.”

“If that is so, then why did you not accept the captain’s quarters? You’d be more comfortable there, no? You could do many things with all that extra space.”

“If I may speak freely, Sir?” It broke her heart how pitiful he sounded, as if he were embarrassed of everything he possessed and how he lived in her own home.

Tapping her toes against the floor, she tangled her fingers in her skirts. “I would like nothing else. If it is an issue of finances, I will not think any less of you.”

A bead of blood appeared between his teeth. “Had I been granted more expansive rooms, I would have lost the respect of many of the guards. It is quite the common phrase that I am the pet of the Oridion dynasty, I regret to inform you.”

The shame in his voice stung more than anything. Was it truly such a terrible fate to be associated with her family? Did he think so low of his time here that the mere implication of willingly working with them led him to disguise his allegiances? On the other side of the coin: how could people feel comfortable enough to badmouth the current ruling family and flinch from them all the while. For all Malaidor accepted, this was one thing she would refuse to lie down and bare her belly for. Being a royal demanded respect, and she would claim it if need be. If a lax attitude bred such insolence, she would adjust, whether they liked it or not.

“I appreciate it. Thank you for informing me.” Pride thrilled through her at the sigh in her voice. That had taken so much practice to sound so natural, even if the emotion was genuine. “It appears I have spent too much time rectifying mistakes to focus on the issues in my own palace.”

Surprised blinks chased on her words’ heels. “Of course, Sir. If it is any consolation, I do not think it such a travesty to be under your protection.”

She rested her hand on the bed between them, a faint smile on her face. “Thank you, Hastion. Though it may not seem it, it means a lot to hear you say that. If you have any solutions to rectify this perception of my dynasty, do not hesitate to inform me. I am aware my schedule can be rather demanding, but I am always willing to sit down with you for tea or dinner.”

“Your offer is quite generous, Sir. I hope I will have something of value to give you, should I have need of your time.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” The stonelights in his room would need to be relit soon, with how dim they were dipping. How could he see in this gloom? “I have found that my husband is right, you are quite the conversationalist.” That is, he spoke to her without plotting against her, ready to twist her words into something else. Quite honorable.

A stammer worked its way back into his voice. “Y-you flatter me, Sir.”

“My husband is the one to flatter you, I merely confirm his observations.”

His face paled like she had asked for him to set his neck down on the executioner’s block. Was he under the impression he was doing something wrong by heeding their fickle demands? “I apologize for my forwardness, Sir.”

Face slipping into a concerned frown, Malaidor let herself regard him for a moment, taking in his anxiety and nerves. “May I?”

His nod was shallow enough to be insignificant.

Her gloved fingers gentle as a spring breeze, she thumbed his lower lip out from between his teeth. “You’ll hurt yourself like that, and where will we be, then? You’re more than welcome to chew gum, if it will help.”

“I will take that into account, thank you, Sir.” He whispered, face like a moon in the shadows.

The stonelight was fading quickly, the remaining pale-yellow light illuminating the room like a painting, warm and welcoming, despite the unfamiliar space. Malaidor was thrown back to times spent around the embers of a dying fire, on watch for creatures that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, sitting with the man who was to become her husband. Life had been so much simpler then, working to a tangible goal.

Oh, the joys and sorrows in success.

“I’ll let you rest—you’ve had quite the long day, after all.” Letting her hand fall to her lap, Malaidor’s face relaxed into its usual calm expression. “I appreciate the conversation. Oh, and happy anniversary, Hastion. My husband would like you in his quarters overmorrow evening.”

He bowed his head, remembering all he had been taught on interacting with royalty in one fell stroke. Still, the brief moment of hesitation spoke volumes. If he was willing to work with her like this, if he was willing to accept her help, then there was hope. Malaidor might have been a bleeding heart, but at least her blood would be a testament to who she was.

“I will be there, Sir. Shall I walk you back to your chambers?”

Rising, she glanced down at him, pinning him under her gaze. “It’s alright. I know my way, but I appreciate the offer.”

As he stumbled over thanks and apologies, his confusion hung heavy in the air. His queen, instead of leaving through the door like any ordinary person, crossed to the wall facing his bed, examining the wood paneling in it like there was some piece of fine art hidden in the whorls and ripples of the tree rings, skimming the tips of her fingers over the smooth paneling, replaced throughout the eons over and over again.

Too many people had elected to go for walks tonight for her presence to go unnoticed. Damn the weather for giving them the first break in the heart. Even getting to his room had proved a challenge. The rumors in the tabloids if Malaidor was caught fooling around with her husband’s guard… she didn’t want to think of that. If there was a way to sink her dynasty’s reputation in the muck and mire for an eternity, that would be it. The tabloids, nonsense as they were, would never let it go, and she was far too busy to run needless public image campaigns on herself.

Feeling along the wall with light fingers, she found the familiar arcane seal, squirreled away under natural-looking wood. Of course, it had been extant for far longer than the wood it was embossed on, created civilizations ago and built into the very bedrock of the palace. Its magic thrummed pleasantly under her fingers, homey and soothing. So many things were enchanted here, if only people opened their eyes and looked around. Well, no. That would only make everyone’s jobs harder, and Malaidor wasn’t about to compromise her own safety like that.

A soft click sounded as the sigil lit up under her fingers, glowing a vibrant blue. The hidden door swung open on silent hinges, tunnels within the palace lighting up with the same steady, orange bulb lights as the dungeons. Though different than the stonelights, these were far more reliable, providing a steady gleam wherever she needed. It was quite the blessing indeed to know the innards of her own home like the back of her hand.

“Oh, here, let me…” Trailing off, she extended her hand to the stonelight dish, the staticky crackle of arcane energy picking its way across her skin as it poured into the enchanted rocks, brightening their color to a vivacious sunshine. “If you should want to do some more work, of course. Candlelight can be so damaging to one’s eyes, though I wouldn’t recommend you stay up too late, if only for your own health. Do have a good night, Hastion.”

She could see his face, mouth slack and brows furrowed as she walked into the yawning orange, door clicking shut behind her. Oh, what was the harm in teasing him a bit? No doubt he would grow curious, scheduling a meeting the instant he received any sort of information. Even if he didn’t, this was something quite crucial to know that guards very much weren’t taught—how the interior of the palace was shaped.

Happiness prickled at her mind. They had a pleasant conversation and bonded, like two normal people. Galengar would be so proud of her, Malaidor let that thought guide her as she strode through the interior of the palace, familiar with her above-ground catacombs as she was with the below. Her husband would be proud.


	11. 1-9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastion has a talk with his king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes, sappy elf relationship talks are necessary to get you through midterms
> 
> also chap estimate as been removed because uhh oopsies i added some more things

“My Lord,” Hastion’s voice sounded as the door clicked closed, shame clear in his face, “I fear I have done you wrong.”

Tired eyes fell upon his guard, worry floating about his stomach. Though he had acquiesced to his presence, he could have hardly prepared the proper response to see him like this, disheveled, on edge, with his emotions churning about within him.

It certainly wasn’t what Galengar had expected of his midnight, long after Hastion had gone off shift. Just half an hour ago, he had been wracking himself with guilt for keeping the man up for so late this week, from having him fetch dinner and ferry paperwork the night before to sitting and watching his king reiterate a report before this morning’s meetings to check for any errors. Working double duty as a guard and attendant, all the while taking on the duties of a captain, must have been tiring—insulting, even for someone so qualified.

Calmly, Galengar set down his work, more names and addresses stolen from the kyanis by an anonymous source and handed over to the Children of Illit. They had proved more than helpful in this, willing to leaf through the files to determine what was and wasn’t vital information to accelerate his progress. Despite their initial reservations, their cooperation was invaluable. Most graduates balked at a visit from any sort of governmental peacekeeping force. Soon, his attention would turn to supporting and reimbursing them, maybe a few gift baskets or a tax cut. Tickets to a private showing of a popular play, something. He’d figure it out after he took a break.

‘I find that hard to believe, Hastion.’ His signs were easy as he leaned back in his chair, feeling his back crack in protest at sudden movement after so much stillness.

His guard’s head dipped deeper. It was so odd to see him in his plainclothes; Hastion was not a man to be caught out of uniform on the job. Appearances were everything, especially if one’s own troops were waiting to capitalize on a single error. For him to come into his king’s chambers, even from the entrance in Malaidor’s rooms, shocked him. A simple maroon shirt and comfortable black slacks concealed his form, obviously meant for a larger man than his lithe, lean-muscled guard, attempting to accommodate for muscle that didn’t exist.

“I have… consorted with my Lord’s wife.” A tremor in Hastion’s voice chipped fragments from Galengar’s heart, sending them skittering around his ribcage. “I am happy to accept any punishment my Lord deems fit. I have betrayed my Lord and understand that, should I be hung, it is my fault alone. I apologize for this breach of trust; I am not worthy of my Lord’s mercy.”

Was he… was this about the conversation Malaidor had with him last night? Nothing had happened—and if it had, it wouldn’t be Galengar’s concern.

‘Oh, that? Consider it nothing.’ There was no need for this level for this level of fear, no need for crying and panicking.

Wide eyes blinked at him, brimming with unshed tears. A trickle of exhaustion wove into Galengar’s limbs. All this time, and Hastion truly thought he was going to call for his head. For what? Making eyes at Malaidor and speaking with her in private after she walked in on him? Of all the scandals nobles had, that hardly met the definition. Two consenting adults had a conversation, hide the children. His wife had already told him about it, anyway. What was a marriage based off of, if not trust?

“Y-you were aware of it?”

Galengar rested his elbow on the headrest of his chair, enjoying the stretch in his spine as he twisted to face the guard. ‘Of course I am. Malaidor and I speak frequently, and we have long-since agreed that, should it come to it, we would share you. Did she not mention that?’

His teeth worried at his lip. “I am afraid that did not come up in conversation, Sir. I apologize for taking up your time—”

‘I don’t mind your presence. Was that all you were worried about? I wouldn’t mind a break from this, Illit’s children are not particularly keen on having a standardized format and hunting for specifics can get quite draining after a while. I’ll see to mentioning it to them. Again.’

“If I may ask something daring…”

Galengar motioned for him to continue.

Eyes wandered down, hands twisting into little knots behind him. “I was not aware you spoke of me with your wife.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Galengar set his pen down. ‘You happen to be a rather large part of my life, it’s only natural we would discuss you.’

“I hope that I can continue to be satisfactory—”

‘That isn’t what we speak of.’ Galengar interrupted him. ‘I have never been one to see people as a means to meet an end, and I am not too eager to start now.’

Curiosity got the better of him, glittering in his dark eyes. That was the Hastion he liked so dearly, morbidly inquisitive and brave enough to inquire. “I must wonder, what else is there of me to speak about?”

A sly smile crossed Galengar’s face. ‘A question, how daring. We talk of how adorable you are.’

The poor man looked like he wanted to die, cheeks burning red and ears drooping down in embarrassment. “Those aren’t the exact words I would use to describe myself, Sir.”

‘You sell yourself short, then.’ His fingers itched to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his guard’s ear. ‘But, back to the point at hand, no. I am not upset with you and I do so enjoy speaking with you.’

“I greatly appreciate your mercy, Sir.” He turned the words over in his mouth, weighing each one before speaking.

With a smile, Galengar brushed a few strands of his own hair out of his face. ‘Is there anything else troubling you? I don’t believe I’ve seen you out of uniform, yet, so there must be  _ something _ the matter.’

He choked, mouth flapping open and closed. “I—ah—There may be, Sir, but I wouldn’t want to trouble my Lord with banal things.”

‘I love banal things.’

That flush only darkened, walking along the shell of his ears. “It isn’t—ah—I…” Taking a deep breath, he ducked his head down, hiding his face. “I fear that I may have developed certain compromising emotions pertaining to my Lord, but they will not hinder my job performance, if my Lord wishes to keep me after knowing this information.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

Lucky him.

‘Well, that’s rather fortunate.’ Galengar let the beginnings of a smile creep across his face. ‘I fear that I may have the same emotions for my favorite and most trusted palace guard.’

The gears in Hastion’s head turned as he jerked up, watching his king, as if there were more than one person that slotted into that definition—as if his king spent significant time in close proximity with any other guard or noble. “Sair Ilesidur? I didn’t take him for your type…”

Ilesidur Marrigon was  _ not _ Galengar’s type. Never in his life would he even  _ consider _ seeing someone so vapid and self-absorbed. For every minute he spent with his king, another ten had been wasted dressing for the occasion and slaving away to the newest trends. The bulk of his conversation took the appearance of commentary on the most recent rumors plaguing the nobles in the hopes that his king would let something incriminating slip. Malaidor would kill him—not in the joking sense, she would take her sword and run it right through him—if he declared the man his consort.

Snorting, Galengar let out silent cackles. ‘No, not Ilesidur. Ilesidur doesn’t even make my top ten of favorite blond palace guards with ornately styled moustaches.’

Hastion’s brows just drew further together, trying to puzzle out who of the guards the king favored. Galengar could see the thoughts, painfully obvious in his face. Going by appearances would do him no favors—the king was not one to pick and choose by looks alone. Personalities, too, were risky. Who knew when a sweet exterior belied rot and treason, artfully hidden by little white lies.

Better put him out of his misery before he strained something.

‘You. I’m talking about you, genius. We should ship you off to the Academy, see if you can make heads of the Solaqen Problem.’ Cutting him off before he could stutter out an apology for his own existence, Galengar schooled his features into something less bemused. ‘But, if you’re uncomfortable with that, I wouldn’t be opposed to keeping it professional.’

That confusion only redoubled. “With… being sent to the Academy? I would hate to disappoint you, Sir, but I do not trust myself with the equipment necessary to measure interplanar space.”

Gods. Galengar was in love with him. ‘No, though I think you would catch many eyes in an academic's uniform. I was inquiring on whether or not you would be opposed to entering a less impersonal relationship with me, though, if you are not willing, I will neither fault you nor think any less of you.’

“I… I am honored by your attention, Sir.” Hastion clasped his hands in front of him, appeasing and pleasing. “I am open to anything my Lord would like.”

Shaking his head, Galengar beckoned him over. He obliged instantly, worry clear in his face. Before he could kneel, a royal hand caught his shoulder. ‘Would you be open to discussing what Galengar Oridion would like?’

A moment of silence hung between them. How shocking this all was—a king, leveling himself to be his guard’s peer, a guard, propped up through the ranks to call himself a king’s equal. Such a scandal would make seasoned reporters blush, would bring tabloids through the palace gates without delay. Even still, Galengar would not court this man as a king. He couldn’t live with that egregious an abuse of power.

“I would not be opposed, no,” Hastion’s voice was a small, tentative thing, wonderfully and stunningly brave, “should you wish to act as equals.”

Little butterflies left the cocoons their forebearers had deposited in Galengar’s stomach, fluttering against the interior of his abdomen and demanding to get out. ‘Good. Then, if it is amenable to you, we may discuss this topic more.’

“I don’t see a reason not to.” Charcoal eyes grazed Galengar’s lips, his hands.

His guard’s alternative was clear, and their closeness did nothing to dissuade him. Like this, connected by Galengar’s arm, the implications were more than obvious. Hastion’s body was warm through his thin shirt, hot enough to burn, should Galengar let it. His breathing came in quick, eager breaths, heart racing just beneath his skin.

Oh, what was the harm in delaying such a solemn conversation. Neither of them had been on top of themselves, on top of their needs. The palace was not known for its friendliness, what with the nobles’ gossip spreading truths and half-truths around until it stretched into something far different than what had initially transpired. If it got out how dearly Galengar favored his guard… well… neither of them would spend the next year in any dominant social position, even if the news fell on unsurprised ears.

‘Or,’ giving in, he rose from his seat, nodding to a stray chair, ‘we can discuss something else for a time. Please, sit.’

Obedient to a fault, Hastion sat down without a second thought, shoulders rising as his king approached. With him sitting down, the height difference between them was remedied some, though Galengar now needed to stoop to reach his face. Hastion held still as his king surveyed him, biting his lip as his eyes roved over his king in turn, only a thimble of shame bubbling up in his expression.

“I suppose postponing this conversation for a later hour wouldn’t be an apocalyptic course of events.”

A smile graced Galengar’s lips. ‘Whatever shall we do, though? Do you have any ideas on how to pass the time?’

Chewing the inside of his cheeks, he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, motion smooth. “I may have an idea.”

Galegar tilted his head, urging him to continue.

“May I kiss you?” His words were a whisper, expression so blatantly hopeful that Galengar doubted he could have said ‘no’ even if he wanted to.

‘I would like nothing less.’

Closing the distance between them, Galengar bent down, pressing their lips together in a gentle, chaste kiss. His hands reached up to cup his guard’s cheek, thumb running over the stubble of a long week’s work, fingers caressing the sensitive spot behind his ear. Arms looped around his neck encouragingly, strong muscles pulling him closer.

Hastion’s lips were soft, wonderfully so. He couldn’t help but sigh into him, letting himself slot against his guard like they were never meant to part. Breaking their loop, hesitant hands wandered up and down his back, as if Hastion were afraid to let them settle. Well. No matter. Despite Hastion’s fears, Galengar wasn’t going anywhere, not even if the palace burnt down around them. This shred of contact was an ambrosia, the nourishment he had been so lacking all these months.

Too soon, though, the kiss broke. Two men, cheeks stained pink, glanced at each other in the hopes that the other would know the next course of action. It had to be the solemnity in Hastion’s eyes that did Galengar in, his guard ready to swear on his life never to tell anyone what had transpired between them, perfectly willing to fall back on his training and offer his master anything and everything he ever wanted with neither a criticism nor a complaint. They weren’t having that conversation tonight, not if Galengar had anything to say about it.

Bringing a hand between them, Galengar strained to commandeer enough room to sign. ‘I was not aware you were so skilled at kissing, Sair Hastion.’

That adorable flush only darkened, his eyes falling to his lap as his king draped an arm around his neck, fingers trailing through the soft hairs at the nape to tease his poor guard. Bliss spread across his features, twinkling in his eyes and turning up the corners of his mouth as he leaned into the contact, bold hands mirroring the motion on his king.

“Nor I you, Sir.” He managed.

‘I’m sure you can still teach me a thing or two.’ Smile turning sly, Galengar brushed his lips against Hastion’s cheek. ‘Or I you, for that matter. If you’d like the lesson, of course.’

“I wouldn’t have anything to take notes with, but I’ll do my best to commit your lecture to memory.” A flash of white teeth chased on the heels of his words, a faint chuckle dripping from the man’s lips.

It made Galengar’s chest swell to know his guard felt safe enough to joke around with him like this. No doubt he had a long way to go convincing him to use his first name—even in private—but being able to make a witty comment was already leagues ahead of anything he had expected. Hastion was funny, quite funny, and he made sure to reward his guard with a laugh, no matter how gods awful the pun was. That starstruck look he gave him was well worth it.

A quick, meaningful glance at his guard’s lap asked his question for him. The responding shocked nods, hands warm and encouraging, were eager enough to amuse Galengar, how excited his guard grew at the thought of pursuing this. There was no room for deception, no time to even think about pretending in those bright, clever eyes.

With a breathy chuckle, he let himself slip into Hastion’s lap, firmly in his personal space. Though they were both seated, he still had a few inches on Galengar. Well, no matter. He had gotten used to being the shortest elf in the room with his giant of a wife. Not many compared to Malaidor, a few inches over six foot, tall, even for an elf.

‘Is this alright?’ Galengar mouthed, letting his hands play along the nape of Hastion’s neck as his guard came to terms with what was happening, presumably debating whether or not he was dreaming.

Pulling him in with gentle tugs, Hastion’s face split into a tentative smile. “Very much so, thank you.”

‘Good to hear.’ His words were lost as he leaned back in, unable to resist.

Whoever opened their mouth first, neither knew, but here they were, soundly working on kissing the life out of each other. As if a switch had been flipped, any worries, any anxieties either had melted away in a tangle of bodies and clothes. The sound of breathing growing heavy filled what little space remained between them. Had his room always been so hot? Had it always taken his breath like this, leaving him panting and flushed, or was this the effect his guard had on him, stripping his reason and rhyme away like leaves in the fall?

Little noises were drawn from his guard, soft moans and groans, sounds gods would smite for as they trickled into the room like holy relics. The gods must have been envious—not many got to be so close to such a beautiful, capable man. Strong arms shifted around him, never letting him feel a smidgeon of discomfort over his position. What a generous man Hastion was, willing to take pains over letting his partner suffer needlessly.

He tasted like sweets and frost, his mountainous homeland nurtured within him. Arching peaks and brisk wind make its home on Hastion’s tongue, lingering in Galengar’s own. What must his guard think of him like this? Could he taste the brooks outside of the village he was born in? The acorn bread the town baker would make when the frost set in? How much of his past had been transcribed within him?

Parting for breath, Hastion dipped his head to feather pecks to Galengar’s neck as his king strained to catch his breath, painfully aware of the way his heart hammered in his ears. Nausea prickled at the back of his throat, tainting the afterimage of his guard’s lips. The hairs on the back of his neck stood, the room spinning slowly on its fulcrum.

Fast. They were going so fast. Too fast. The erection grinding against his thigh dampened the heat in his stomach, sending numbing ripples through his body. He felt cold, an artificial snow trickling down his spine. Too much, this was too much. Nausea roiled in Galengar’s stomach like a sickness, traitorous thoughts he’d fought for so long to suppress coming to the forefront of his mind, unbidden and unwanted.

_ Good luck finding someone willing to take in broken goods. _ His Teacher whispered in his ear, clawing out of his grave to torment him one last time.  _ It’s going to be hard to keep him, you know. Look at what you’ve done. You’ve tortured him so cruelly. Aren’t you a nasty little thing. Under your touch, he’s hard and wanting, but you’d rather leave him like that. What a bad pet you make. _

No. Not tonight. Pushing those thoughts as far as he could, Galengar tried for a suave, steady breath, training taking over to paint smiles on his face. There would be no sex tonight, not without a proper negotiation. A hysterectomy did not mean he could cavort around like this, throwing himself into any person’s arms in a wanton display of sexuality. He should speak about this, to mention his issues, ask about Hastion, not simply go with the flow and pretend nothing was happening as he lay on his stomach beneath his guard, ass presented and face buried in pillows like it would make anything happening to him less real.

Teacher Tevek’s chuckle rang horribly loud through Galengar’s scattered thoughts.  _ And what will he think of you then? A pet that can’t even care for its Master’s basest needs is hardly worth the cost to dress it. Get on your knees and show him your value. Please him. Make him keep you, give him a reason to before he returns you to me. _

Hastion wouldn’t do that, he wasn’t that kind of person.

_ He isn’t? Is that the sappy belief you hold? So many people lie these days, and you’ve never been one to pick truth from falsehoods. You think he’s your savior? I’m still here, pet. I’ll still be here for a long time come. _

_ Hard to be here when you’re at the bottom of the ocean.  _ Galengar dared to think back.  _ Funny how that works _ .

Hands trembling, he dug his fingers into Hastion’s shoulders and pushed himself back, dislodging soft lips. Those eyes, darker in the dimming stonelight, watched him with a mixture of heartbreak, confusion, and concern. It burned to hurt him like that, to tease needlessly but draw back before any satisfaction. Again. What a monster he must think of him, how useless.

‘Not tonight.’ He winced at how commanding his signs were. ‘I… I can’t do this tonight. I’m sorry.’

“Are… are you alright, Sir?” Feathering careful touches onto his king’s thighs, Hastion’s voice was a bastion of calmness, unafraid and unphased by this turn of events. Had he been expecting a reaction like this? Was he truly that transparent?

What a useless creature Galengar was, unable to notice his own guard’s emotions. ‘I… This—us—like this, would be too much for me right now. I’m sorry, it isn’t anything you’ve done, and I hate to leave you like this. It’s all in my head.’

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Even aroused, even rejected, Hastion was still putting his king’s needs first.

Praying to Kadak that she spare him from vomiting all over his guard, Galengar gave in. ‘I’ve just had a long day, as I’m sure you’re aware of.’ A chuckle, devoid of all humor, bubbled up out of him. ‘My back hurts and I’m a bit tired, the same for you, no doubt.’ Who had ever been hurt by little white lies?

Those fingers turned from light touches to soothing circles, spreading to Galenger’s lower back. It only hastened his heart, fogged up his thoughts like windows in the last dregs of fall. “I see, Sir. Would you like me to assist with those issues?”

‘Well, aren’t you so bold?’ Galengar cradled his face, stroking Hastion’s cheekbone with a gentle thumb. ‘How have I managed to change your mind on your upcoming execution?’

The resulting uneasy smile was his reward for such a disquieting joke. Right. Don’t do that when you have the power to actually have that person slaughtered in whatever gory way you see fit. Nice going, Galengar.

“Queen Malaidor spoke with me on a number of matters and I found her words to be quite enlightening, Sir. Her words put me at ease, and our interaction merely confirmed her sentiments.”

That was… unexpected. From Malaidor having an emotional conversation with anyone to someone finding her to be a stabilizing presence, they formed an unorthodox of image of the Elven Queen, a woman known for her rigid facial expression and inability to be anything but neutrally fair to all parties involved—that his wife had successfully  _ set him up _ with his own guard… had he really fucked up that bad? What had she even  _ said _ ?

‘She is always looking out for me.’ He joked, painting a faint grin onto his face. ‘Why don’t we talk this out and head off to bed? No need to help with my back, I’m afraid I’d be too tired to properly appreciate it. I’d hate for you to stay up so late for my sake.’

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Sir. Please, may I stay with you for a time? Just to ensure you’re… safe” The last bit was mumbled, demure eyes wandering down, arousal largely forgotten. “I would hate for you to be tense, Sir.”

That wouldn’t be too horrible, probably. Worse came to worst, Galengar could just cite a headache and pretend to be tired enough to encourage him to leave. With a hesitant nod, he couldn’t resist letting out a gasp as Hastion lifted him with ease, comfortably holding his king in his arms like he weighed nothing at all. In this position, Galengar couldn’t sign, couldn’t communicate. Scrabbling at his guard’s shoulders, he felt arms loosen around him as Hastion deposited him down onto the ground, concerned face tipped downward as he kept his hold around him.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

Nodding, he let himself be kept. ‘I can walk. It’s quite alright, Hastion, there’s no need to fuss.’

“Of course, Sir.” Hastion inclined his head respectfully, waiting for his king to take the lead.

Though his legs felt as if he were walking through molasses with bones of jelly, Galengar led them to his bedchambers, skin crawling like a thing come alive. Had the air always been so thick in this room? The presence behind him was an omen, equal parts sanctity and sacrilege. Well, when had Galengar been one to do things by sanctity, diving down into the depths of depravity to keep his skin whole, aiming and shooting without much precision in a race to the death.

Despite what Hastion’s anxieties claimed, the stability of the palace had greatly improved in the last two years, threats of execution mostly abated. That brought no comfort to Galengar, though. Malaidor’s words had been required to put his own guard at ease, convince him that no, he wasn’t in any danger from the royal family.

How often had they spoken like this? Why had she done this to him, burnt down this barn before he’d had a chance to start work on the foundation? Uncharacteristic, angry jealousy reared its ugly head before Galengar could tamp it down with assurances that no, his wife wouldn’t be cruel enough to compromise this relationship like this. She, of all people, was aware of how much this meant to him, of how much joy Hastion would bring him.

A shake of his head brought him back to the present. His bedroom, not for the first time, was far too grand. The colors and textures bordered on overstimulation, tempting Galengar to flee to his closet, lock the door behind him and never exit.

Inlaid gold leaf glittered along doorframe and windowpanes in the slowly fading stonelight. Light curtains drawn against the nighttime ambiance still let a breeze come waltzing in, stirring the dark blue fabric. Carpets, gifts from far flung ambassadors, covered his floor, styles ranging without much heed for design trends, colorful and vibrant. On the walls, he’d hung paintings from galleries he and Malaidor had snuck into, pretending to be some random nobody nobles with new money to burn. Hailing from different schools of art, bought without much attention paid to popularity, they made a patchwork of art over his walls.

Of them all, his favorite had to be a realistic depiction of the Stronghold Heights, hung on the wall facing his bed. Dominating the bulk of the wall space, the painting was huge, nearly as tall as he was. The artist had captured the dark purple of the peaks just before it stormed, clouds gathering dark and angry, obscuring the craggy points in a sea of grey roiling and broiling. He could smell the air there, that coppery scent that came on the wind as the rains and wind blew in from the ocean, bored of the sea and willing to try their hand at battering the mountains down.

Unbeknownst to most, the artist had painted a scene from Reikyani, just inside the camp walls. Had the bottom of the scene been shown, one would have seen the “students” of the camp running from place to place like ants under the watchful eyes of their “teachers”, securing anything that could be blustered away with heavy ropes and taking shelter in their barracks from the winds and stinging rain, praying to anything they still believed in that the roof wouldn’t be ripped off before the eyewall hit.

Hurricanes in Reikyani were far from patient, loving creatures, especially not when one’s punishment was to be strung up, left to weather the storm. It seemed that they knew when they had a victim, devouring lives like nuts. Precious few survived that, left to shiver in the corner of the barracks once the gale had passed, whispering about the things they’d seen in the storm. Legends of flying things and unearthly spirits dancing in the winds ran wild, only reinforced by the sight of ropes nibbled and the deep scrapes of claw marks in the dirt.

“—and, if you’d like, I wouldn’t be opposed to discussing this further while doing so.” Hastion was saying, doing his best to hide his inquisitive glances about the room.

Nodding, Galengar let him take the lead, sticking close to his guard. Hastion would ensure that he didn’t stumble over his own feet and smack his face bloody against the hardwood floor. If he wanted to kill the king, it would have been done months ago. There was nothing to fear. There was nothing to fear. There was nothing to fear.

The softness of his bed surprised him when his guard urged him to sit, concern flickering across his face as Galengar’s hands skimmed over the expensive sheets. Wordlessly, Hastion knelt in front of him and took his king’s boot into his lap, hands expertly undoing the laces like Galengar were a haughty god, the holiest thing he’d met in years. Deft fingers removed one shoe and then the other, setting them beside the bed neatly.

“Is something the matter, Sir?” His touch lingered, warm palms supporting Galengar’s ankle.

He shook his head, exhaustion making a home of his body. ‘No, no. I’m just a bit tired.’ Looking down, he could see the determination in Hastion’s shoulders, loyalty woven into his entire form. ‘I would be more than happy to discuss this novel relationship with you, if you would like.’

That smile could stop the sun from setting. “Of course, Sir. Is there anything I should know before we continue?”

Patting the bed beside him, Galengar urged Hastion up to sit next to him. He obliged, boots already off as he sat down, cross legged, across from his king.

‘I enjoy physical contact,’ the signs felt far away, distant, ‘though I am not partial to pain. There are very few places where I do not tolerate being touched, and I am willing to accommodate. Please know, you do not need to ask if you may do something, I do not mind spontaneity—’

_ A whip across his back, arms restrained and a blindfold over his eyes. His Teacher laughed at his flinch, an intake of breath the only thing marking his pain. What else could he do? No sounds would burble up from his throat anyway, a gag had been unnecessary. _

‘Though warning is appreciated for surprises.’

His guard nodded, eyes watching his fingers, expression subtly guarded. “Thank you, Sir, for this. I… don’t like pain either.” Liar. “Are there any places you particularly enjoy being touched?”

That he liked…

_ Hands on his body, his own limbs held fast behind him, mouth propped open with a circle gag. For every flinch, a slap across his face and laughter. Fingers wandered over his stomach, pinching at sensitive skin and complaining about his rakishness. Flicks at his nipples made him draw sharp breaths in, trying not to squirm as unwelcome hands palmed his small breasts. They avoided his crotch, though it was little solace. They would be there soon enough. More laughter erupted as a teacher forced her fingers into his open mouth, picking them across his tongue. The feeling of drool dripping onto his chest… _

Nauseous and pale, he shook his head, coming back to himself. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t experimented much with my own pleasure, as odd as it seems. I would not be opposed to intimacy, though I fear I have certain unpleasant associations that I am currently working through, so I would beg your patience.’ That was a way of putting it. No need to scare him off so early.

As he let his hands fall to his lap, thoughts roiling in his stomach in one unhappy stew, Hastion caught a palm, lifting royal fingers to place a reverent kiss to his knuckles.

“Though I don’t know the specifics of what you experienced, I would be honored to help you, Sir.”

A traitorous blush darkened Galengar’s cheeks. ‘There is no need to be formal. I will be neither angry nor put out if you use my name. I have it for a reason, after all.’

“Of course… Galengar…” Hastion ducked his head as he spoke his king’s name, cheeks pink.

Guided by some stupid impulse, Galengar leaned in, pressing his lips to Hastion’s again in a chaste peck. It calmed him, the gentle, undemanding touch. His guard didn’t press, didn’t demand he open his mouth to him, didn’t plunder. His body, though, had other plans. Exhaustion washed over him like a wave, thoughts growing fuzzy.

With a sigh, he drew back. ‘Thank you. As for my marriage, I hope you understand that I will not break it off. For both of our sakes, knowledge of this mustn’t spread past you, Malaidor, and me.’

He nodded, hands clasped in his lap. “The tabloids, yes?”

‘They can be… nightmarish to say the least. That, and the nobles’ gossip.’

His face grew solemn. “I understand, my lips are sealed.”

Galengar couldn’t help the smile that slipped over his face as he bumped his head against Hastion’s softly, watching the way his ears twitched in barely contained emotion. ‘Good. I take it you’re just as tired as I am, though, so why don’t we get some rest. I’m sure our day will be just as busy tomorrow as it was today.’

“A wise sentiment, Sir. I can leave, if you would like.” His hands cradled his king, an ease bleeding into his form.

‘Oh, it’s alright.’ Galengar soothed, stroking his hair. ‘Your rooms are a long way off, though, aren’t they. Why don’t you spend the night? I wouldn’t mind someone warming my bed.’

A brief paused marked Hastion’s hesitation. “If it is alright with my—you, Sir.”

‘If it isn’t alright, why would I ask?’

Chewing at his bottom lip, he let his eyes wander down. “I… yes, I would like to spend the night, though I fear that I will need to leave early.”

Galengar’s thumb found his guard’s chin, pulling his lip from the vice of his teeth. ‘I’m aware, and it won’t be an issue. I’ll do my best not to wake when you do.’

With a chuckle of renewed confidence, Hastion nodded, wrapping his hands around Galengar’s ass and lifting him as he rose. “Alright then, as my Lord wishes.”

Hands scrabbled at Hastion’s back, trying to find purchase on broken-in fabric as Galengar attempted to calm himself, taking slow, deep breaths. He hadn’t been carried since… No. Thinking about that would do no one any good. He was fine; nothing was going to hurt him here. Hastion was going to put him to bed, and all would be fine. The two of them would lie down, his guard would breathe as shallowly as possible so as to avoid disturbing him, and Galengar would wake feeling no more rested than he had before he fell asleep. His therapist would be cross with him for forgetting the breathing exercises she had outlined for him, but all would be well.

That was, until Hastion set him down facing the bathroom. Oh. Oh no. Not this.

Nausea returned with a vengeance, strong enough that it took all his will not to vomit his light dinner onto the floor. The last thing he wanted was to see his own naked form right now. Being naked meant being forced to look at his body and all its flaws—meant other people looking at his body, his scars, everything. Nowhere to hide. The very thought sent revulsion up into his throat. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, acidic and burning, any leftover serenity washed away in its tide. Whatever Hastion was saying was lost in the ringing in Galengar’s ears, the echo of a slap from years ago.

“Sir?” A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, only will keeping him from crumpling into a bow. Hah. How funny would that be, a king kneeling for his guard.

Before Hastion could apologize, Galengar’s hands were moving. ‘Sorry, I wandered off in thought. Can you please repeat that?’

He hesitated for only a moment, gathering his thoughts once more. Concern wove its way through his features. “I asked if you would like some assistance in the bath, Sir. I would be more than happy to offer my services if you have a need—”

‘I’m alright.’ The words were off his hands before he could think. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, I can bathe myself well enough. The senility hasn’t set in just yet.’ He chuckled silently, his guard smiling at the joke. ‘If you’d like, you can help get the bed ready and I can be quick about it all. I would hate to keep you up, especially with how early you rise.’

“Of course, Sir. Thank you for thinking of me.” Disappointment, miniscule as it was, tinged his words. “If I may ask, how old are you? To prepare for the eventual senility, I mean.”

Galengar blinked at that. Surely, Malaidor hadn’t scrubbed something as basic as his age from his records? ‘One hundred and twenty-three, twenty-four in Pterois.’

A bark of laughter, disbelieving, was Hastion’s initial response. “Truly? You’re younger than me, and the guards still complain that I’m an infant. I will be one and thirty-nine in Jalias-de.”

‘How lucky to be born in a Jalias.’ His hands said for him. ‘It seems that Malaidor is still the oldest.’

Hastion let a fond smile slip across his face. “One and forty-five in Terkene, yes, I remember the festivities. They were a pain to work during, but quite fun off-shift. Will we be celebrating yours this year as well?”

No, they were not. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have that answer closer to the date. My apologies.’

“Of course.” Opening the bathroom door for him, Hastion waved a hand inside, as if announcing his charge. “Though I fear it is time for you to bathe, now. It is a far greater detriment to the country to have you tired than I.”

Galengar’s nod was distant as he entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Dazed, he stripped and cleaned himself, sensations coming from miles away, muddled in unfortunate memories. His eyes unfocused, wandering to the water, the way it rippled about his skin, slowly fading reminders of his motions. Perhaps he scrubbed needlessly hard, but it was all he could do to remain in his body. The brief memory of a towel around him and sleepwear donned heralded his head hitting his pillow and the sound of running water from the other room.

His blanket had been pulled up around him, soothing in its careful creases. The floral pattern was familiar. One hundred and sixteen flowers, counted once in a post-nightmare haze, sheltered him from the elements. Why had he left his weighted one in Mor’s room? That one cradled him, calmed him, helped slot the disparate pieces of his mind back together.

Was this what Hastion thought of him, a fragile thing that would tear itself asunder at the drop of a hat? Who would let memories claw him to ribbons while he wasn’t looking? Was it really that far from the truth? His king had failed him, had given himself over to a haunted past and hollow memories, unable to move on enough to enjoy his newfound luxuries. Hot water, whenever he wanted, greeted him from the taps. Every day, he ate food both delicious and suspiciously free of poison. He was a pampered lapdog, and this was how he repaid the palace.

As if Galengar deserved to enjoy much of anything. His wife had spoiled him, that was for certain, and those around him bent to his very will like branches in the breeze, so terrified of stepping out of line that the truths of his existence had slipped right by them. The death of his nation would be his fault, the death of his  _ wife _ would be his fault. His name would go down in history books as the knife in a dynasty’s heart, a mistake that should have been rectified far sooner.

An arm looped around him, dropping his mind back into his body. Hastion must have extinguished the lights in the room while Galengar was lost in his thoughts. Quiet mumbles, likely apologies and “excuse me”s sounded as Hastion sank down beside him, hair still damp from his bath and skin smelling of Galengar’s soaps. Something about that, his scent on him, made Galengar want to kiss him silly, calming in the oddest way. It was almost as if he belonged like this, in his bed, his king lingering on his skin.

Galengar felt the press of Hastion against his back. Instead of sleep clothes, he wore the underwear and undershirt he had under his normal outfit, disappeared sometime during his bath. If he had to guess, Galengar would guess that his shirt and pants currently sat on the sink counter, perfectly folded. As he was tucked into his guard’s chest, he let himself seek refuge in his gentle heat, warm against his back.

‘Do you usually sleep in your underclothes like this?’ The question was traced against his guard’s hands before he could think twice.

Hastion’s next words stumbled over his embarrassment, cheeks no doubt pink. “Er… no, Sir. I… um…” He shifted, as if to look away from his king. “I sleep in the nude, but I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable so—”

Snorting, Galengar’s shoulders shook with the force of his silent laughter. Hastion eased at that some, resting his forehead against the back of his king’s head.

‘It’s alright.’ His fingers were loose as they looped the letters. ‘Make yourself comfortable and don’t worry about me. Well… don’t worry about me when you’re off duty. You know what I meant.’

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I’ll keep one eye open for you, then. Let me take care of you, and, in return, you can let me know if I overstep. It’s the least I can do. Now, if I may be so bold, I would recommend that the both of us rest. There is a meeting with the trade council tomorrow, projected to take up the bulk of the day.”

‘I hate the trade council.’ Galengar grumbled, settling down and pulling the covers up higher.

“I’m aware, Sir. I’d offer to reschedule the meeting, but I fear we may be too far along in the talks for that.”

With a good-natured sigh, Galengar nodded, slowing his breathing consciously and loosening stiff muscles. He was safe. Had Hastion wanted him dead, he wouldn’t do it in his king’s own bed. That was pure foolishness. Murderous intent had never manifested in his nature, either. Over this entire year, with all its chances at killing, his guard had never once raised a hand to him. That would be enough for Galengar. It had to be.

Eyes drifting closed, he took solace in his guard’s steady—if a tad fast—heartbeat. Its drum was a lulling thing, even as the man likely worked himself into an anxiety attack, silently, so as not to disturb his king. Hands held him gently, warm from the bathwater. It sent a little thrill through him, feeling the callouses on Hastion’s palms against his soft skin. It had taken far too quickly for Malaidor’s own to fade away, worn down in favor of smooth, noble skin.

‘Thank you.’

A soft chuckle sounded behind him, anxiety artfully hidden. “Of course, Sir.”

Of course. Perhaps his Teacher had been wrong about one thing: he wasn’t that killable, even in his weakness. How he had managed to delude Hastion into sparing him, he didn’t know.

Now, though, his body demanded he rest, limbs growing heavy and thoughts wading through molasses as numbness left his extremities. His mind was weighed down by rocks the shape and softness of his blankets, held in place by strong, soothing arms. Before he could think to protest its coming, darkness overtook him, deep and dreamless.


	12. I-3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theolin has a visitor, it seems!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha i posted the chapter late? what are you taaaaaalking abt

The storm outside pounded against the shutters in Theolin’s chateau, but, inside, the fire crackled cheerily in the fireplace. True, it may have been a bit hot for it to be lit this late in the summer, but with the wind battering the house, reminiscent of the gales and typhoons of the coming fall, it never hurt to have a bit of comfort during a stormy night as he waited. The hungry wind would have to do more to swallow this house, anyway.

Plush furniture dotted the sitting room like islands in a sea of rosewood flooring. Done up in rich jewel tones and expensive, foreign woods, the armchairs remained as well stuffed and cared for as the day they were purchased, resting beside his rugs from the northern coast. The carpets were gorgeous things, their flowing, circular patterns soothing, woven in bright reds and silvers, specifically commissioned to his family colors.

Portraits hung on the walls, the faces of long suffering and long dead family leaders peering down at him, painted and copied by master artisans when his father had gifted him this small mansion. One Kadrios was missing, though it was no great loss. Very few people would hang a picture of Essren the Burner on their mantlepiece, and Theolin did not make up their numbers.

His servants dismissed for the night, the house stood empty, save for him. Food sat cooling in the icebox, ready to be warmed up on the enchanted slabs in the kitchen should Theolin find himself hungry during his time here. It was no great issue, he took such joy in these rare moments of privacy. In preparation for the night’s activities, he had retrieved a bowl of berries, now resting forlornly on the table as the grandfather clock in the corner inexorably ticked on. His partner was late.

The stonelights gleamed in their trays, burning low from neglect. They only had an hour or so left before they gave way to gloom. None of Theolin’s pacing could restore their luster, even if he breathed into them. His mind raced far too fast for the moment of meditative calm needed to bring light to the arcane rocks. Yes, he was going to be tired in the morning, but it was worth it for this. It was so worth it.

Sweaty hands smoothed down the front of his tunic for what must have been the hundredth time. He resisted picking at the embroidery, squirming at the rain outside. As midnight approached, his nerves only grew. Upsetting scenarios drifted about his head; what if they were caught, what if they were jailed, what if they were sent away, never to bring shame onto their families again? Would his father be able to forgive him for this? For bringing such hedonism unto their name?

Before he could appease those questions with blasé, memorized answers, the doorknocker rapped loud and clear through the house. In a heartbeat, Theolin was on his feet, running to the foyer without a second thought, smile prickling at the corners of his mouth. The brass doorknob was cold under his hand as he opened the door, greeted by a fresh wave of rainwater and wind.

A sodden figure stood on his doorstep, shielding himself from both the deluge and prying eyes. Strands of his black hair had been plastered to his forehead, a wonderful contrast to his pale green skin. Though he had attempted to pull the hood down as far as it would go, the cloak maker had not accounted for a man his height using it to hide his form. Water dripped from the vestment, contributing to the rapidly forming puddle at his feet. Broad shoulders and strong limbs were outlined by the drenched fabric, lovely face obscured by the light.

Theolin’s heart swelled at the sight. Braving a smile, he tucked a lock of hair that had so mysteriously come loose behind his ear, letting his eyes wander down demurely. “Good evening, stranger. Would you like to come in out of the storm?”

A silver eye peered out from beneath that hood, amusement glinting in its depths. “Yes, please. It’s quite a gale outside, isn’t it?”

Resisting the urge to close the space between them and let the world know just how much he wanted him, Theolin stepped aside, bidding him entrance. Heralded by a gust of wind and dripping on the floors, rainwater wetting the carpets, he came in. With Theolin’s persistent help, he stripped out of his soaked cloak, hanging it on the coat rack to dry. Toeing out of his boots, he set them aside, slipping on a pair of house slippers.

“A shame about the weather, wouldn’t you say?” Theolin resisted the urge to fiddle with his sleeves, reassured that his makeup looked perfect for tonight. “Had I known, I would have asked to suspend for another day, Hekion, that or sent a carriage.”

The other man let out a soft huff, wringing out his long hair as best he could. “You cannot predict the weather, we know this. I do hope the night has treated you well.”

Instead of a response, Theolin focused on keeping his wits about him. Like this, bathed in steady stonelight, Hekion looked ethereal. His hair was deeper than the darkest shadow, skin like marble in the warm light. The storm had left him damp despite his best efforts, water glistening on his cheeks and dripping from his hair, and all Theolin wanted to do was smooth down those mussed locks and plait them into a braid, to wipe the water from his skin and warm him with kisses.

Under his cloak, Hekion had hidden a well-to-do tunic, artful black and green fabric complementing his features and highlighting his muscular figure. An amulet hung from his neck, bronze metal framing an opal that shimmered in the dim light, a gift from his mother to formally welcome him into the Seli’in family. How daring his mother was, taking the reins on how her family would be perceived. The risk she’d taken by recognizing Hekion… it was a true miracle that no one had been thrown into the dungeon, no matter what the Queen soothed.

“May I get you a towel?” He finally asked, taking Hekion’s hands in his. “You must be freezing. Here, the fireplace is lit, and I can put on the kettle, and—"

Hekion cut him off with a kiss, hard and bruising and oh so wonderful. Sighing into the contact, Theolin let his arms wrap around the other man’s waist, running his palms up and down the wet fabric. It was so freeing to relax like this, to be able to let down his guard in the safety of his own home. No one would vault this over his head, extort him for their own gains. No one needed his status for much of anything, not with Hekion set to inherit a lovely chunk of land. True, his father would be more than disappointed when he found out about how Theolin had kept this relationship from him, but what was a little paternal distaste over soft lips against his, a lover tangling his cold hands in his shirt?

Breaking the kiss, Theolin pressed himself against Hekion, wiping a droplet from his cheek with steady hands. “You know, I have an entire chaise lounge in the sitting room just waiting for someone to do unspeakable things on it.”

“Do you now?” Strong arms wrapped around his middle. Placing scruffy kisses on his cheek, Hekion’s voice was a rumble. “Maybe you could help me out of these wet clothes, then. It would be so horrible to catch a chill, wouldn’t you say?”

Helping… yes. Yes, Theolin could do that. The issue would be not drooling on his chest while he did it. Nodding, he took Hekion’s hands in his, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. It brought a smile to his face, a truly beautiful sight. Gently, those gorgeous hands brushed aside a pesky strand of hair that kept falling into Theolin’s face. A smirk lit up Hekion’s expression at how lovesick Theolin must have looked, ready for him.

Hands played at the hem of Theolin’s shirt jacket, finding their way underneath to press frigid skin against his own warm. With a yelp, he pressed his palms over those chilly fingers.

“Creator, is it truly that cold outside?” He clasped those hands in his as they walked deeper into the house, breathing warm air onto them.

Hekion chuckled, showing off freshly filed-down tusks. “No, dear. I decided to stick my hands in the icebox before I left, just for you.”

That got a laugh out of Theolin. Only Hekion could make him laugh so easily, stringent stoicism melting away under a loving touch and pretty smile. Who could resist him, really? All it took was a suggestion and a hopeful glance and Theolin was out, purchasing a jewel to make his lover happy, or a suit, or a book, or whatever Hekion had been unable to acquire for himself. So few sellers in the noble district were willing to do business with non-elves—maybe he could speak with the Queen about that? She would certainly appreciate a younger person taking interest in this matter and he would ingratiate himself. Becoming the dauphin would overshadow his father’s disappointment, hopefully.

In the other room, the fire was still burning, wooden logs crackling and popping now and then as they were devoured. Gesturing to the sofa, Theolin let himself part with Hekion, giving the man one last kiss before their hands were given a task to do. Hekion, though, had other opinions on what they could do to fill the time. Instead of a chaste peck, like Theolin had intended, he brought his hands up to cradle the elf’s face, opening his mouth to him and swiping his tongue across Theolin’s lips.

Of course Theolin obliged. Hekion tasted of metal and pinesap. Maybe it was just his cologne, so strong this close up, or the way he naturally smelled, but he always tasted like that, gorgeous and wonderful and oh so tempting. Theolin’s father would call him deluded, addicted, but what did that matter? His lover was here, in Theolin’s arms, intoxicating and endearing. The world could end around them, and he would still be kissing Hekion with the same urgency, the same desperation.

Pulling back, a clandestine smile slipped onto Hekion’s face. “Eager, aren’t we?”

“How can I not be?” It embarrassed him how whiny he sounded. “I so rarely see you like this, can you fault me for being a bit excited?”

“Hm, I suppose I can’t. It’s quite touching how much you value the time we spend together, even if it’s hard to see in the court.”

A blush spread across Theolin’s cheeks. All his training, and he still blushed at the drop of a hat like a child. “Appearances. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean a word of it, you know.”

Hekion ran his thumbs over Theolin’s cheekbones, face soft and placating. “I know, I know, dear. Can you help me with my tunic? It’s just so cumbersome when it gets soaked like this.”

Those blessed hands wandered down to undo the buttons at the bottom while Theolin, as if in a daze, worked on the top. Bit by bit, pale skin was exposed, smooth, unmarred by scar or birthmark. He let his fingers wander across the cool expanse until their hands met in the middle, shirt falling down Hekion’s arms to reveal his chest in all its glory.

A thatch of dark hair, slicked down by water, meandered down to the waistband of his pants. He was so unlike an elf, with hair decorating his chest and muscles clearly defined, tusks continuously filed down. A head taller than Theolin, he could have featured in a magazine by now. Had he not been a half-orc, he could make quite the living as a model—knowing the Seli’in dynasty, they would have supported him in that endeavor. But, unfortunately, his task was appeasing Queen Malaidor and becoming an ambassador from the dynasty, not modelling, shame as it was to hide such a body.

Smiling at the way Theolin eyed him, Hekion rested his hands on his hips, tilting his head to one side. “How voyeuristic of you. Why don’t you take off your trousers and then we can call ourselves equal. I’m sure I’ve managed to get your clothes wet, what with all this rainwater I’ve managed to drag in.”

Theolin laughed at that, undoing the laces of his pants as sexily as he could, even swaying his hips from side to side and biting his lip as he moved with slow, exaggerated motions. It drew a chuckle out of Hekion, the man taking long, appreciative glances along Theolin’s body. His heart fluttered at that, cock finally waking up as it was purveyed through his undergarments.

Sighing happily, he discarded his pants and set his member free. He kicked his shoes off without much care, distracting his lover with kisses to his cheeks. Hekion’s nimble fingers discovered the laces to Theolin’s tunic, undoing the cloth holding it closed and dipping his head to press his lips against the top of his neck, hands wandering up to toy at his chest. He groaned at that, finding the buttons holding Hekion’s pants together and getting to work, shaking hands making the process take obscenely long.

“So eager for me.” His lover cooed into his ear, impossibly hot lips moving to forge a slow path up his jawline. “I could just eat you up, do you know that?”

A traitorous whimper slipped out of Theolin’s mouth, though it did nothing to dissuade Hekion. If anything, it did quite the opposite. Chilly fingers warmed themselves on his nipple, while his other dipped down to palm him through his underwear, uncovering his half-hard length. A breathy chuckle sounded from Hekion at how eager his elf was, leaning into his touch. 

Theolin could feel his breath in his ear, so tantalizingly close. “You never could handle your teasing, could you? I’ve been waiting for you to finish up with my pants for two entire minutes, dear. I trust that the buttons aren’t too confusing for you, are they?”

“N-no.” Theolin blushed deeper, bending his head to look at what his hands were doing. “You’re just so distracting, how can I help it?”

With a roll of his eyes, Hekion pressed a kiss to Theolin’s cheek. “Of course, dear. Would you like some help? These may be in the Centrailian style, but I take it you can figure out how to work them.”

He could get the damned pants off. How hard was it, really? Just because a certain someone was distracting him so perfectly didn’t mean he was ignorant of the relatively simple process of taking a man’s pants off. That man happened to have a lovely cock, currently wide awake and straining against its confines, was a wonderful bonus for his laborious efforts.

Even still, he found himself grumbling, “I hate the Centrailian style.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll let them know immediately just how much you hate it.” Capable hands assisted him, finishing up with teeny tiny abalone buttons and pushing the clothing down.

“Why are you even wearing these.” Theolin’s lips found the base of Hekion’s neck, pressing the most chaste of pecks into the soft skin. “You aren’t Centrailian and you’ve never even lived there.”

A hand alighted onto his waist, pressing their hips flush together. “It’s the new fashion; didn’t you know?”

Was it? Destroyer, why were the fashion trends in this city so flighty? Every month, it was a new thing, from whatever corner of the kingdom the nobles had decided was the epitome of style and grace. He couldn’t keep up—one of these days, Theolin was going to throw in the towel and just wear whatever was in his closet, be it mixing patterns or wearing Eragaj style with Galin. The rules of fashion had inundated themselves into his life far too much for his liking.

Hekion, though, Hekion was another story entirely. In all the time Theolin had known him, his clothing remained impeccable, as if he were predicting the trends before they happened. Whatever he wore, it was consistently stylish and sleek, the talk of the town. His name was renowned in the lower courts, though the dynasties were their own beast to conquer. It was no small wonder that women and men alike threw themselves at him—the next one on his arm had a good chance of making significant connections in the upper crust, opportunities far better than one could ever dream of in the lower courts.

It pleased Theolin to no end that he was the only one to see his lover like this, though, half-naked and half-hard, just for him. He was the only one to get to taste the salt on his skin, smell his cologne, feel his skin under his exploring fingertips. Everyone knew Hekion Seli’in never took lovers, of course. Everyone, but Theolin.

“Hekion,” his voice was plaintive as his lover nibbled at his earlobe, maddeningly gentle, “I’m not going to break, you know.”

A chuckle reverberated through the air around them. “I believe you, dear. Why don’t we take a seat, then, and I can show you just how fragile I think you are.”

How was he to resist that? Strong arms pulled him down onto the chaise, Hekion laying him down with just the right amount of roughness. Legs spread for his lover, Theolin ground his pelvis against Hekion’s with painstaking slowness. Lips trapped his in a searing kiss, hard enough that he half worried about bruises showing up later, ridiculous as it sounded. Hekion’s fingers dug into his hips as he plundered his mouth, pilfering everything Theolin could have called rationality.

Something about being manhandled like this went right to his cock, his member straining against his underwear. Here he lay, the heir to the Kadrios dynasty, below his lover, treated like he was a common pageboy hired for his youthful body. It thrilled him more than anything.

Splaying his fingers across Hekion’s chest, Theolin pinched his nipples lightly, teasing them into stiff peaks before wandering his hands up, just barely ghosting against Hekion’s neck, his jaw, until he was tracing his long ears with the lightest of touches, dancing along the sensitive skin. With heady groans, his lover moaned into Theolin’s mouth, erection hard against Theolin’s thigh as he held his hips politely still.

As he pulled back, Hekion’s eyes were blown wide, their silver almost entirely eclipsed by the black of his pupils. Hungrily, he pushed Theolin down further into the divan, tugging his underwear down to let his dick spring free without a care as to how his partner’s eyes roved over him, awestruck, biting his lip at his lover’s sheer beauty.

While the entirety of Hekion’s body was a gorgeous thing, it was his cock that topped everything off. Though big, it wasn’t oversized—enough to be more than pleasurable without pain. A vein traced up the underside and foreskin rolled back to reveal a needy cockhead starting to leak precum. It complemented his features, perfectly in line with his proportions, while remaining impressive. Theolin wanted that in him as soon as feasibly possible.

Pulling off his own underwear, he spread his legs wider for his lover. His own cock stood against his stomach, forgotten, but all the more desperate for him. A vial of lubricant materialized out of a secret nook in the coffee table, reapplied to Theolin’s already stretched hole and handed to Hekion. The half-orc watched Theolin’s fingers, glistening with clear slick, disappear into his body with a predatory glee as he took his spot between his elf’s legs, pushing his knees over his shoulders. Destroyer, Theolin was lucky he was flexible, with the positions Hekion favored to fuck him in. Not that he was complaining; oftentimes, it meant Theolin getting the pounding of a lifetime.

His lover was nothing if not experienced.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” Hekion brushed Theolin’s hair out of his face with a hand, rough with excitement.

Who was he to fault him, especially when it keyed him up so, dick bobbing against his stomach at the light pain. Humming a pleased note, he tugged Hekion down, pressing hungry kisses to his neck. Below the collar, below the collar. No need for awkward questions.

His lover’s little gasp, more an intake of breath than any kind of noise, was a drug, horrendously wonderful and addictive.

“I would say you’re the beautiful one,” voice low, Theolin traced Hekion’s jaw with a gentle thumb, looping his hands around the man’s neck, “so lovely and handsome.”

The chuckle that left Hekion’s mouth was faint enough to be a figment of Theolin’s imagination. “I wouldn’t say that, neither would most elves, you know.”

Unamused, Theolin feathered his lips along the corner of Hekion’s mouth, running his fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “I wouldn’t call myself a typical elf, you know.”

“Of course you aren’t.” One more kiss, and Hekion was propping himself up above Theolin, grinding against his hips in slow, teasing motions. “Are you ready?”

Nodding, he let a smile slip across his face. “I’ve been ready for the past hour, thank you for your lateness.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind Hekion’s ear. “Though I suppose I can’t be too stringent on time, can I?”

Hoarse laughter fell out of his lover’s mouth. “You can thank the carriage driver for that, in case you haven’t seen the world-ending storm outside.”

“I’ll forgive you, so long as you stick your cock in me tonight.” He couldn’t help the way his grin widened, fondness plainly displayed.

“As my Lord wishes.” The half-orc brushed his lips against his forehead before lining himself up with his body.

Theolin groaned as Hekion entered him, breathing hard. His half-orc mouthed at his neck, sucking and nibbling down where it wouldn’t show below the neckline of his tunic He needed to give him something to remember him by, of course, and this, pushing the buttons on his body that drove Theolin to sin, was quite memorable indeed.

Digging his nails into his partner’s back, Theolin urged him to go faster, harder, but his persuasive tendencies failed him as Hekion kept up that damned languid pace. He looked divine like this, the light behind him a dimming orange and the fire crackling loud and bright. His hair had fallen into his face and it was all Theolin could do to push it back, letting his fingers linger on his ears, thumbs caressing sensitive skin.

He obliged him, brushing against that spot inside him that made Theolin see sparks. Sweat lingered on his lover’s skin, lording over Theolin like a god come down from the stars above. He was so strong, so beautiful, even as the light cast his face in deep shadow, only his silhouette visible. The fire crackled, sending glooms and shades dancing along the walls, waltzing in time to the pattering rain and howling gale.

The sound of skin on skin was quiet in the room, drowned out by the white noise of storm and flames. Hekion’s breath came in pants, soft moans falling from his lips. He ducked his head, as if looking at Theolin filled him with too much emotion to dare risking. Cheeks hot with exertion and lust, Theolin ran his fingers through Hekion’s hair, tangling his hand in the black locks.

A note of pride fluttered in his chest. He had done this to him, not whatever low status girl was throwing herself at Hekion’s feet, trying to endear herself to him in the hopes of improving her status. He had brought that flush to his cheeks, he had strung up that glimmer in his eyes. It was his body that gave him such pleasure, drawing him in and giving him that sweet release. Hand wandering down to stroke his cock, leaking onto his stomach as Hekion pounded into him, Theolin let loose a high moan, unashamed and unabashed.

“Fuck.” Hekion’s words were quiet, hardly above a whisper.

A wave of satisfaction thrummed through Theolin. Hekion never cursed; the perfect child of the Seli’ins, immune to the dynasty’s tendency to produce drifting, artistic types, he kept himself mature and solemn. Had he been an elf, he would have been mistaken for a Kadrios aplenty. To hear such a stoic man cursing for him—cursing because of him…

His next thrust brushed against that lovely spot inside Theolin and he groaned out a broken moan, embedding his short nails into Hekion’s shoulders hard enough to leave little crescents.

“Like that, just like that.” He breathed, though Hekion never needed further instruction.

Replying with a sound that, in someone else’s mouth, could have been a grunt, he increased the pace, nipping at his neck. Pleads slipped out of the elf’s mouth, hand working himself as Hekion’s control slipped, rhythm faltering as he quietly moaned into his soft skin. They were close, the both of them. That was what being apart for a month did to a person.

Nothing could compare to this, not Theolin’s own body nor anyone else he could consort with. None of them had the allure Hekion did, his perfect lips and perfect eyes and perfect… perfect…

“You’re so lovely.” Theolin panted out, doing his best to hold still for his lover and not buck up against him in a bid for more sensation, even as his control wore thin. “So perfect and handsome and kind. How did I get so lucky?”

The slightest of flinches jerked through Hekion, his pace stilling for just a moment before starting up again, as if hoping that his elf wouldn’t notice. Mumbling something into Theolin’s throat, he thumbed his lip, letting the man lap at his fingers like they were his cock. It hurt how little he must have thought of himself, all that confidence blown away at the hint of a genuine compliment. More than anything, Theolin wanted to kiss him until all the pain was gone, wounds healed under gentle touches. For all his inability to restructure society, he could at least offer a space for him to simply be, free of the posturing in the court and the watchful eyes on the streets.

Thoughts grew muddled as tension built up in his core, a hot tightness that only twisted harder as his lover thrust into him. Theolin felt his legs slip from their precarious position, landing, ankles crossed, around Hekion’s waist. Fine by him. Pulling him closer, Theolin’s muscles jumped, chest heaving.

With a cry, he painted their stomachs in white stripes, back arching off of the plush fabric under him. Hekion fucked him through his orgasm with hard, demanding thrusts, chasing his own high. Burying his face in Theolin’s shoulder, he shook, gasping out as he thrust deep, releasing into his lover’s body. He held himself up for a moment before letting himself collapse atop him, face hidden in blond hair and sun kissed skin.

Carding his fingers through Hekion’s hair, Theolin couldn’t help but smile at the dreamy, floaty feeling inside him. Between the storm and the fire, everything was cozy, nice and warm with his half-orc laying over him like a blanket, even if they were going to get sticky and uncomfortable later. Hekion accepted the contact as he caught his breath, letting Theolin unstick the hair from his damp forehead, stroke his back in a vain effort to help him relax. Even with him pressing kisses to the top of his head, Hekion’s muscles had still bunched up, anxiety unwilling to let go.

“You did wonderfully, dear.” He rubbed gentle circles into his lover’s shoulders, voice something approximating a croon. Hekion was always so tense after sex, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop and the knives to be drawn. “Though I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

Instead of easing, he hid his face further into shadow. “We should get cleaned up, Theo.”

“Just lie with me, please?” Despite the whine in his voice, Theolin remained unashamed. “You worry so much, just be here with me for a moment. No harm will come of it.”

“We’ll get caught.” His voice was stern, though he didn’t make an effort to move.

Theolin deposited another kiss to his brow. “By whom? There isn’t anyone home save us, and the property is too large to worry about neighbors. Stay, have some wine with me—I would hate for this vintage to go to waste.”

Biting his lip, yet more tension bled into Hekion’s form. “I’ll stay for a little bit, if it makes you happy.”

“It does, but it’ll make me even happier if you let me get these pesky knots out of your back.” He teased, lightly pressing on one of the knots in question.

Another flinch ran through Hekion and Theolin drew back, returning his palm to his shoulder. His voice was rough when he spoke, heart racing under Theolin’s fingertips. “It’s alright, but thank you for the offer. It was very… nice.” The word was like oil in his mouth, slick and stilted.

“Of course, dear.” The poor thing denied himself so much in the name of his dynasty, striving to be the ideal son, even so far out of the public eye. “For all it’s worth, I think you’re among the kindest, handsomest men I’ve ever met. I would call you perfect, but I wouldn’t want perfection to get an ego.”

“You’re far too sweet for me, Theo.” Feathering a kiss against the column of his neck, Hekion shifted slightly, eyes shining with a dark light.

Swiping a thumb over his half-orc’s cheek, Theolin adjusted their position into something more comfortable, letting Hekion lie atop him as he liked. “I’m just as sweet as necessary. Come, take a nap with me at the very least. I’ll even pretend to sleep through your departure.”

With a grumble of acquiescence, Hekion settled down, the warmth of his body lulling him further. Theolin’s mind urged him to doze, singing a siren song of slumber, but he waited still. A contented sigh eased out of him as he wrapped his arms around his lover, nuzzling against his head soothingly. Slowly but surely, Hekion relaxed, letting his breathing slow as he rested, worn out from their activities. Theolin’s heart was tearing in half with fondness at the sight, how he found solace in his form. He would do anything for him, the thought scared him with its intensity. Should Hekion ask, he would turn against his family.

Placing one last kiss—light, so as not to disturb his tentative sleep—onto Hekion’s forehead, Theolin let his eyes slide closed, breathing slowing as the rain and wind outside rocked him to his dreams. With Hekion here, he would sleep well indeed, even if he’d wake up to a cold divan and empty house in a few scant hours. That small pain was payment enough for seeing him.

*~*~*

Hekion feigned sleep long after Theolin had drifted off, face cast in shadow and staring into the fire, stomach churning. From this angle, the elf couldn’t see his expression, just the rise and fall of his chest. He felt sick, heart racing just under his skin. Theolin could feel its drumming, he was sure of it. Theolin could feel it and knew and this was a trap. This was how Hekion was exposed for what he was, and he wasn’t even going to be able to put on pants before he was paraded down the street to his prison cell. People would talk of this day for years after the fact, and his dynasty would be filled with shame at the mere mention of his name.

It was only a matter of time now until Theolin put the pieces together and uncovered his deception. Despite his best efforts, Hekion could only pretend so much. Over and over, he flinched at just the wrong time or avoided his eyes just so, and then, those pale, searching eyes would be upon him, picking apart every interaction they’d had with an eye so perceptive that Hekion doubted the man’s mortality at times. Precious little slipped by Theolin, the margin of error closing the closer they got.

This had gone on for far too long for him to back out now—especially with how quickly the Elven Queen was working on the public image of crossbreeds. At this rate, this relationship could become well known any given week and ruin everything he’d spent so long curating. There would be no threats to reveal Theolin’s transgression, there would be no issues with the tabloids finding out. Though she meant well, the Queen was decimating his chances at getting a decent court standing for himself.

That Lord Nadja was on her side struck nails into his coffin. She’d looked the other way when his bed hadn’t been slept in or when dark circles under his eyes marked yet another all-nighter for months. All she knew of his antics were the occasional condom wrappers in his pockets, the stains on his clothing, the lingering cologne on his collar. Her smiles were knowing, but for all the wrong reasons, even daring to hint that he should bring his “nighttime friend” over to meet the family. No. Very much no. He would rather string himself up and save the royals the trouble before he revealed he was fucking a Kadrios—the Kadrios set to inherit the dynasty, for that matter.

Theolin having an affair with him had sounded like such a good plan on paper. A few introductions, a tryst or two, and then Hekion would go public and ruin his image, decimating any respectability his family had. It was simple, it was effective. It was utterly useless now.

The man was in love with him, that was clear enough in the way he looked at him, fondness glittering in his eyes and affection softening his approach. His hands traced Hekion’s skin like he was lucky to even be in the same room as him, his lips kissed him like he was consorting with an old god. It had only gotten worse over time, offers for tea extending into dinners and what once were brief trysts stretching into wine-filled conversations and naps on bare chests, time growing hazy in the post coitus.

The elf spent so much money on him, presenting Hekion with the most expensive wines and sending gifts to his estate under the cover of anonymity. Every new package for him from yet another “unnamed” suitor made Hekion’s stomach lurch as he opened it to uncover something worth more money than his father had ever seen in his life.

Every caress was filled with such tenderness, always trying to convince him that he could stay a moment longer, that he could stand to let Theolin do something else for him. The amount of time he’d wasted urging Hekion to let him give him a back rub or another glass of wine over the months…

It was maddening, the compliments, the offers, the gifts. For each one Hekion received, he was struck with another shard of nausea. Hurt—not for himself but for Theolin, of all people—speared through his chest like a knife. Far from the suave seductress he had been at the start of this entire plan, Hekion’s nights became something he needed to dig his heels in to keep from hyperventilating during. What the Elven man had attributed to performance anxiety, to be remedied with gentle praises and compliments, had his pulse racing ever faster, eyes anywhere but between his legs, pretending it was anyone but Theolin treating him with such easy kindness.

Guilt. That was the word for it. Guilt marred every action, tinged every smell here. It buzzed at the back of his mind in constant reminder: Theolin was doing this for him, was trusting him, was giving himself to him. Every kiss was a deception, every accepted touch a lie. Hekion was worse than a liar, because a liar gave himself a chance to be exposed. Hekion was a monster, set to break a poor man’s heart.

Why did that make him ache like he was being ripped in two? Why did he find himself returning the favors, sending equally “anonymous” gifts back to Theolin’s estate, agreeing to meet, even when it meant he would be horrendously exhausted the next day? Why did he spend his nights staring up at his ceiling, thoughts of Theolin’s voice, Theolin’s body, Theolin’s touch, Theolin, spinning about his head as he tried to replace them with something, anything else.

Tomorrow, he would chastise himself for these thoughts, unconvincingly reassure himself that there was no way that Theolin knew what he was doing. That he’d be able to break this off whenever he wanted, but tonight, in this moment, he had to live with this vile feeling, bile rising in his throat with every slow, easy breath from his “lover”. Theolin’s heartbeat rang in his ears like a war drum, his scent around his neck like a collar. He had marked them both, and that slowly drying slick burned like a brand on his stomach.

Carefully, so, so carefully, Hekion rose, feeling his skin peel away from Theolin’s where sweat and fluids had affixed them together. True to his nature, Theolin slept through it all, not even stirring as cool air hit his skin. Every time they parted, Hekion thanked the Wanderer that the Elven man was a heavy sleeper, used to the safety of mansions and guards, even completely alone. It made this part so much easier, no need to field worried glances and concerned words.

Extricating himself from Theolin’s arms was harder, the man tightening his grip when Hekion moved too fast. Even in unconsciousness, he wanted him to stay. The thought sent Hekion’s heart going again, beating out a loud tattoo in his ears as his blood rushed.

Slight increments of motion set him free and a gentle hand moved Theolin’s arms out of the way, crossed over his chest. His face, relaxed like this, was serene. With those light blue eyes closed and hair a mess, fanning out behind his head, he looked to have a halo, gifted by the Wanderer and upheld by the Destroyer. If he watched for too long, he would turn into a pillar of ash, burned from the inside out by his divinity.

No. He was a man. A powerful man, but a man, nonetheless. Hekion needed to get cleaned up and leave. The longer he stayed here, the longer the risk. His horse would still be tied up in the stables outside, carriage driver long gone, but the animal would not stay forever.

He crept through the darkened house, light stones long burned down. The gloom was a welcome cloak as he stepped into the bathroom, letting the tap run for the water to get warm and grabbing a small hand towel off of the rack. Theolin’s bathrooms were… extensive. The shower and bathtub counted as their own rooms, filled with products that Hekion could only describe as nice smelling but otherwise useless. The tiles were arcanely warm underfoot and the towels made of the finest cotton, some embroidered into decorative statement pieces, rather than something to clean with. Even in the darkness, he could see the perfect porcelain and gilded taps of the sink. It epitomized the sheer wealth spent on this, room scrubbed to an inch of its life by servants.

Wetting a hand towel, Hekion did his best not to feel out of place as he wiped dried cum off his stomach, cleaning himself up as best he could. It took longer to get the clammy sweat off of him, swiping the cloth under his arms and scrubbing long-dry lubricant and cum off of his crotch. Rinsing the towel in the sink, he wrung it out.

A traitorous thought flitted into his mind, one concerned about whether or not Theolin would wake should he wipe his own spend off of his stomach. He shouldn’t. He should. It’s what Theolin would expect a good lover to do, even if it would hang in Hekion’s mind for weeks.

Still, he walked back to the sitting room on numb feet, Theolin’s soft snores only adding to his already-churning guts. In sleep, he had curled onto his side, one arm extended off the couch and his cheek smushed against the cushion. Despite the warmth in the room, his sparse body hair had risen in goosebumps, hands splayed out against the fabric, as if he could find his partner in the woven strings and velvet.

With shaking hands, Hekion passed the cloth over the elf’s stomach lightly so as to not wake him, but enough to make him murmur and reach out, wrapping his fingers around Hekion’s arm and drawing it close. Praying that he couldn’t feel the way his hands trembled, Hekion cupped his cheek, running a thumb over his cheekbone, grown sharper over the time they’d known each other. Had he allowed himself to feel more concern over the situation, he would have called Theolin gaunt now, ribs visible in his chest.

Conversations replayed in his head, Theolin fretting about his figure in jest and mentioning skipping breakfasts and lunches to work more in such an offhand manner that Hekion hardly noticed it at the time. Looking at him now, he had a hard time believing his claims had been hyperbole. Maybe he should stay for dinner one night, if only to assure himself that Theolin was actually eating. Such a convincing excuse.

“—re too nice…” The man slurred, eyes still closed, breathing still steady. “Need to relax more…”

“Thank you, Theo.” Hekion whispered, fighting down a tremor in his voice.

Stomach passably clean, he removed those cloying hands, folding them into a more comfortable position as he discarded the towel in the bathroom hamper, returning for his original clothes. Even if he was pretending, he wasn’t nearly rude enough to stick his belongings in some random place for the maids to find later. Body moving without his input, he dressed himself in damp clothing, uncomfortable as it was. How fitting. A crueler man would assert that he deserved it.

And yet, he lingered. Quiet snores filled the air, Theolin loose-limbed and at peace with Hekion wandering about his house while he slept. Acting on impulse, he clutched the throw blanket on one of the armchairs, an expensive thing made of the softest fabric, meant both for decoration and warmth. He draped it over Theolin’s form before he could doubt his actions.

His eyes strayed to his mouth, pink lips slightly parted in slumber. No. No. Hekion could not do that—that was the farthest thing from what he was meant to be doing. This would… this… he couldn’t.

But then, as if possessed, his body bent, feathering his lips against Theolin’s. He could feel the sleepy smile spread across his face, not nearly awake enough to remember this in the morning. That thought burned the most, that this would only be something he recalled, this moment for him and him alone.

“I love you.” Theolin mumbled, as if were nothing at all, slipping so easily back into his dreams.

Hekion’s blood ran cold and boiled. He loved him. He loved him and he said it to him, half-asleep as he was. His first confession. Theolin loved him, and he wanted nothing more than to shake and beg and lay bare all his sins on the altar of this man who forgave without a second thought, loved without fuss. He wanted to cry, kneeling before him and leaning against his legs and feel his fingers run through his hair, soothing and calming, not thinking twice about it.

That was not to be. That was never to be.

Heart in his stomach and a lump in his throat, he turned, walking out the door and into the downpour. Forgiveness wasn’t something he would be granted, not for this.


	13. 1-10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pet has a very nice day out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit late but life is busy :/
> 
> me n the editor sat down for this chap and budgeted out hastion's earnings to the point where we had to call over his business flatmate to help us lol

The royal family, as it turned out, were heavy sleepers. Both of them. Fortunately for them and unfortunately for him, Hastion did not bolster their numbers. Every shift, every drowsy motion brought him blearily back into the waking world, only to dip off into his dreams a moment later. Over the course of a night, it resulted in more than a good deal of his time being spent awakened by nothing at all.

King Galengar—just Galengar, now—had rolled over in Hastion’s arms, electing to disregard traditional spooning position to shove his face into his guard’s chest, breathing still slow and steady. That he had wanted Hastion to sleep in his bed in the first place was stunning, that he was perfectly fine with the man holding him while he slept? No one would believe him, not even the tabloids, if he threatened to go public with the story.

Getting to sleep in that first hour, with his arms around his king, had been nigh impossible. His breathing evened out into the snuffles and faint snores of slumber, soft hands resting over Hastion’s own as he tried in vain to relax. The feeling of those nimble, constantly moving fingers laying still, save for twitches now and again, against his was maddening. Hastion wanted nothing less than to thread them together, to hold his hand while he rested. Instead, he contented himself with being a warm weight against his king’s back, ignoring the way his body whined for more.

The early morning, though, had brought the biggest surprise of the night. Hastion woke once more at the sound of a door closing. The king hadn’t stirred, still curled up, using his chest as a pillow. In the pre-dawn darkness, Hastion could see a figure moving around the bed, stalking them both with light footsteps. This was the nightmare, his charge sleeping like a rock while someone hunted him in his own chambers.

Silent as a shadow, he reached for the dagger at his hip, unsheathing it with one hand. Those footsteps crept closer to the bed, pulling aside the curtains surrounding the bed his king had closed. Before Hastion could move to defend his charge, he was met with the queen’s face, pale eyes flicking from his drawn knife and back to her husband.

Oh.

Holding a weapon over the king while he slept likely wasn’t how Hastion wanted to be caught in his bed, so, with slow, careful motions, Hastion sheathed the blade again. He kept his hands where his Queen could see them, horror inching into his expression as the silence between them lingered.

“What are you doing?” She whispered. Oh, he could look forward to his execution when the sun rose.

Hastion’s voice was barely audible, choked with nerves. “Guarding.”

With slow, calm motions, she eased into the bed, watching her husband’s sleeping form. “Is that what they call it now?”

His cheeks pinked, though she, hopefully, couldn’t see it in the gloom. “My apologies—”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve already forgotten the matter.” Grabbing some blankets, Malaidor snatched the pillow the king hadn’t been using and rolled onto her stomach, settling in for the night—well, morning now. “Just go back to sleep. Good morning, Gal.”

A sharp exhale that could have been annoyance sounded from King Galengar as gave a wave before turning over and pressing his back into Hastion’s chest. He drew the blanket closer around him, eyes still closed and breathing unchanged. Huffing, Malaidor stole some for herself, laying face-down on the pillow in what was assuredly an uncomfortable position. Within minutes, she was snoring—loudly, but Hastion wasn’t going to be complaining. For all the royals assured him that his life was not at stake, he liked his head firmly on his shoulders too much.

His morning continued like that, too petrified to move, even as dawn broke, bathing the room in its golden light. Only two hours later did his king wake up properly, swiping a hand across his eyes and arching his back until cracks rang out up his spine. He sat up, bleary-eyed, hair a mess, and nearly robotic. It was typical of elves to be disoriented upon waking, especially from a deep sleep. The species was not made of fearfully light dozers. Slipping out of bed with ease, he patted Hastion’s shoulder in acknowledgement, not yet awake enough to sign as he wandered to the bathroom with unfocused eyes.

Most elves were… not morning people, to say the least, and not many would fault them for that. The queen was still out, snores muffled by fabric. Could she breathe like that? Should Hastion have flipped her onto her back? Would she suffocate like this, under his watchful eye? She may not have been an infant, but she could still die like one.

“S-sir?” His voice was hushed as he carefully slid out of bed to pad after his king.

The open bathroom doorway revealed him, bedclothes rumpled and hair a mess, brushing his teeth. A couple blond strands of hair had fallen into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to care. So, his king’s issues with fully waking in the mornings took a bit longer to rectify than his, good information to know, if only to make the room more secure. How much of this would he remember with any semblance of clarity?

Fixing his groggy gaze on his guard, Galengar motioned for him to continue as he cleaned his teeth.

“Shall I wake the Queen?” His words were nearly drowned out by Queen Malaidor’s snores.

King Galengar raised an eyebrow, signing with his free hand. ‘She needs the sleep. The morning meetings will come soon enough, and I would hate to be woken sooner rather than later.’

A concerned frown crossed Hastion’s face. “Should you not also be resting? It’s quite early in the morning for—”

Cutting him off with a raised hand, a bittersweet smile found the king’s lips as he rinsed out his mouth. ‘Too much needing to be done for me to waste time in bed. I’ll be in my office, but you’re welcome to go back to sleep. I’m sure Mor would love the company.’

The pet name caught him off guard as always. Yes, Galengar had referred to his wife as such in his presence before, but now was the first time that Hastion had been included. When he gave his guard a command, it was with her full name, if not her title. No one would dare think of her so familiarly, not unless they wished to test their luck and risk their lives. Would he be faulted for following this command? For not following it? From what he could tell, the king was not keen on elaborating his meanings. Hastion was meant to interpret and extrapolate and—

And they were meant to be equals. His king wanted that—Galengar wanted that. Equals let each other pick whether or not to follow their commands.

He took a deep, steadying breath before responding. “I think it would be best for me to start my preparations for the day. Unless there is something you need of me, I’ll get cleaned up in my rooms.”

A wide smile spread across Galengar’s lips as he washed sleep off of his face, patting himself dry with a hand towel. ‘Yes, I think there might be a little something I need you for.’

Motioning him closer, the king telegraphed his intentions enough that he might as well have shouted it from the rooftops. Hastion obliged him, letting the king tip his chin down as he crossed into his personal space. His hand lingered on his cheek as he reached up, lips brushing against his. An electric current passed through them both, awakening that traitorous little voice in Hastion’s head that urged him to kiss and kiss and kiss him until the world ended.

Galengar must have felt the same way, at least, in part. He sighed against him like he belonged here, wrapped in Hastion’s arms, tucked into his body so perfectly. Without thinking, Hastion kissed back, tightening the hold he had on him. What a wonderful way to start the morning, such affection from a lovely man, even if he tasted like toothpaste.

Too soon, his king pulled back, ears up in happiness. Those stormy eyes had smoothed out, alight with a joy he had yet to see on him. As if a switch had been flipped, King Galengar was content and cheery, a far cry from the man plagued by his work. It was a good look on him. If a single, chaste kiss did this much to satisfy him, then Hastion could only imagine what other things this relationship had in store.

‘I do wish I could stay,’ Galengar was signing, ‘but there is a stack of binders in the other room with my name on it. Quite literally, I might add.’

A chuckle slipped out of Hastion. “Of course, Sir. May I ask for something in return?”

‘I could never deny you.’

Chuffing at the sheer sap of that statement, Hastion bent to press his lips against his king’s cheek. A faint blush stained the tips of the man’s ears, as if he was shocked that his guard—his… something, now, would be so daring. But no negative reaction. Judging from the way King Galengar’s gaze lingered on Hastion’s lips, no negative reaction at all.

“Thank you, Sir. I will see you in an hour, then. Shall I ask that breakfast be brought to you?”

It took a minute for his mind to start working again. ‘Yes, please. Enough for two—I should be able to convince Mor to stay and eat something. I worry she’ll drop dead otherwise.’

“Lord Theolin—” He started before he could clamp his jaw shut.

A cloud passed over King Galengar’s face. Good work Hastion, a perfect way to lift everyone’s spirits. ‘I’m aware, but there isn’t anything I can do, now is there? The only thing I can hope for is that his father realizes the issue before he starves himself into an early grave.’

“The only thing any of us can hope. Again, thank you for… for everything. You have been quite generous.”

King Galengar waved his gratitude away with a lax hand. ‘Think nothing of it. Oh! Could you ask for extra berries this breakfast. The blackberry crop turned out quite nice this year and there’s no harm in wasting it.’

Hastion left laughing as he promised to do just that. The door clicked closed behind him and he nodded to the woman standing guard at it. On the way to his rooms, he pulled an attendant aside to let him know the king’s order—along with something less sweet for himself. He hardly blinked at that, even with Hastion in his underclothes, wandering about the royal quarter.

Passing through the less populated hallways of the palace was a blessing. At this time of the day, most people were either heading off to do their jobs with no time to attend to him or already in position to start their shifts. The lamplighters had passed through the halls before dawn, giving the palace staff enough light to do what their tasks decreed.

Arriving at his chambers unperturbed, he locked his door behind him as he entered. In his absence, his quarters had remained undisturbed, everything in its proper place. For all he admired the royal family, the king was not known for his organizational skills and adherence to tidiness. In his personal bathroom, he elected to leave things strewn about the sink in all manner of locales, insistent on positions that neither made sense nor were efficient.

Well, it wasn’t Hastion’s bathroom. That was how his king liked it, and that was how his king’s bathroom would stay. Now, if only he could get his hands on that nightstand. The drawer simply needed to be sorted. How Galengar could find anything in that mess…

With an amused huff at himself, Hastion started with his morning routine. In his washroom, he stripped out of his clothes, tossing them in the hamper. An attendant would pick them up from his common room if he left the container out and have the contents back to him by either tonight or the next morning, depending on how much work there was to do down below. The laundry was quite the horrifying, humid place.

He ran a bath, intending for a quick cleanse after his morning exercises. It would take so much time to run it afterwards, when he was gross with his exertion, and this would give it time to cool, so no harm in saving some time now. He brushed his teeth without watching himself in the mirror, rinsing everything off and returning the brush and paste to their original locations. How the king managed with his bathroom large enough to be split into three separate chambers, Hastion didn’t know.

Ensuring his door was locked, he began his exercises, confident that the bath would cool to a pleasant temperature. The bathtub was perfect at maintaining water temperature; the wonders of living in a place so touched by arcana.

Not bothering to get dressed in anything, he stretched, feeling tension from last night bleed out of him. Missing a night of exercising had detrimental effects, clearly. Today would be something of a rest day, and he could deal with the issues such a leeway caused later this week. Surely, the king wouldn’t have fault with him partaking in the facilities the palace offered. Truly, the gymnasium was a blessing.

Mundane worries drifting around his head, it was a mercy to let his thoughts fade into the familiar white noise of his routine. Where they had buzzed like gnats, static overtook them. Exercise was an ambrosia, allowing him to think of something other than the tentative relationship he had wandered into. Days had passed and his king had been generous at every occasion. Maybe, just maybe, this was truly what his king wanted of him.

He insisted that Hastion sleep in his bed when their day stretched too long, asserting that the way back was too far and arduous for his guard to take. Slowly but surely, a little cache of Hastion’s clothes was forming in his king’s closet, despite the sheer intimacy of it all. That King Galengar so easily accepted him, even with how novel their relationship was… it sent little shivers up and down Hastion’s spine. It would be devastating to be rejected for something as unsavory as his previous employ—surely his king wouldn’t have chosen him if he knew what he had done for work before joining the palace.

His muscles limbered up too swiftly for his tastes, though. The clock was ticking and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his skin, urging him to the bath. His king wouldn’t care to be left waiting for him. Lateness was not an admirable task in a guard or partner. That, and breakfast would be served soon enough, and his stomach gnawed at his ribs in anticipation of eggs and meat and toast.

Bathing took less time than normal, the cool water not needing to rouse him enough to wash. He swiped the washcloth over his skin, cleaning off the filth of last night and this morning both. A knock at his door signaled an attendant leaving his breakfast in the small common room, the regular routine burned into his mind. Every day, at precisely this time, breakfast was delivered. At least he would have time to wolf it down before his tasks needed his attention—

Pet. Today was the day Pet went outside.

He stood, fast enough that water sloshed in the tub, threatening to soak his floors. Here he was, luxuriating in his chambers, while Pet waited for him to pick her up and take her on a walk around the palace gardens—her and the king, too. Creator, King Galengar must have thought him such a fool, entirely forgetting the promises he had given. With any luck, the two would forgive him for this. Drying himself as fast as he could, Hastion threw on his uniform, ensuring he was all sorted in the mirror before eating his breakfast with quick bites. He didn’t have time to taste the eggs or toast; it would take long enough to get to the dungeons, longer to Pet’s cell. By then, it would have been time to meet his king in the gardens.

Poised and polished, he wiped his face and hands, making his way out of his rooms without a trace of panic on his face. The guards changing shifts nodded to him politely, exchanging pleasantries as he strode to the guard office. His internal clock politely informed him that the king would be getting dressed at this moment, readying himself for the day to come. He would arrive with someone in tow for security in thirty minutes, just enough time for Hastion to retrieve the dragon woman.

No one was in the office when he walked in, odd for this early on a workday. A few stragglers usually lingered here, chatting over coffee or tea as they waited for their shifts to begin. Hopefully, they had taken his message to heart, unlikely as it was, and elected to attend to their posts earlier. That, or they had wandered off. It was getting to be a coin toss these days.

On the bright side, few people were there to watch as he opened the door to the dungeons, taking pains to ensure it clicked closed behind him. Unsanctioned explorations into the labyrinth were far from ideal, especially with how on edge the Agro’opoli had been recently. The lightlings spoke more curtly, leading him to exactly where he needed without showing off new developments or repairs. The atmosphere had changed too, drifting from serene to something expectant, waiting. It teetered on the edge of anxiety, an almost amusing concept, if it weren’t for the horrifying idea of the dungeon having a mind of its own.

Pet had taken to pacing the length of her cell by the time Hastion entered her field of view. At the sound of his footsteps, she stuck her head out from between the bars as best she could, waving an arm cheerily. Good. It was a very good sign that her mood was so high. Ordinarily, getting her out of Agro’opoli required cajoling and a little bit of dragging.

Not today, though, no. Today, she accepted the white robes given to her by the lightling without fuss, dressing herself in the loose, flowing fabric and sticking her wrists out to be shackled. Previously, the dungeon had insisted that anyone entering or leaving a cell be fastened tight, arms and legs bound so as to avoid runaways. But the lightling didn’t move. They simply watched, idling, as if Pet had been removed as a potential threat. Good, so Agro’opoli had actually listened to him.

“You’ll be going like this today, Pet.” Hastion tried to inject some levity into his voice, motioning for the lightling to unlock her cell “The King should be waiting for us outside, if you’re ready to go.”

A confused expression crossed her face as she brought her hands up to clumsily sign ‘yes’.

Pride thrummed in Hastion’s chest. Seeing Pet use proper sign language was quite the blessing; she had been so insistent on their homesign that he had begun worrying whether or not she would be able to properly communicate when she finally left the dungeon. Even though she was still on simple words, her progress brought him great hope.

Slowly enough that Hastion could stop her, she stepped out of her cell to take her spot by his side, close enough that they were in arm’s reach. If he chose to measure it, he guessed it would be the length of her old lead, long enough to put some slack between them, but not overly so that she could run off and escape. The distance had grown familiar to them, burned into their minds as the way they were supposed to walk together. At least she went without fuss, trailing behind him obediently and taking in the sights of Agro’opoli, so different from those first few months.

Leaving the dungeons, her eyes widened at the light streaming in through the guard office’s windows. Her face scrunched up, wincing in the light. She grabbed onto the jacket of his uniform, clinging close so as not to get lost. How mazelike must the aboveground section of the palace seem to her, used to identical hallways stretching on to infinity, ready to lead her where she needed to be?

Her eyes adjusted quickly, though, and she grew happier, humming as they walked, swaying to a tune only she could hear. It must have felt odd to be free of chains, permitted to walk wherever she pleased without a leash tugging her back into a handler’s grasp. No pinion held her in this form, only loose, draping fabric preserving what little modesty she still had.

Little chirping noises or birds flying high in the sky made Pet flinch. Her eyes tracked them with the focus of a predator, imitating their songs as best her damaged throat could. Every cloud passing over the sun was cause for concern, hisses and barred teeth snarling it back into submission. Wind whistling through trees spooked her still, even after several visits outside. It was unexpected and sudden, noise overpowering for a woman who spent the last two centuries underground or high in the sky.

“Isn’t the weather lovely today, Pet?” Hastion asked, watching her kneel and run her hands over green grass.

Blinking up at him, she laid down, rolling over onto her back and letting her eyes slide closed in joy. She stretched out, sunning herself in the sweltering heat. Few people were outside today—fewer still in this semi-forgotten stretch of palace courtyard. Isolated locales were easier on her, less threats to assess and avoid. For Pet, the courtyard resembled paradise, a paradise filled with uncertainty and confusion, but paradise, nonetheless. With the sun on her skin, she could almost pass for a Stronghold dragon, a young, malnourished Stronghold dragon, but it took time to recover from decades of abuse.

Her skin needed to tan more if she was to lose that sallow hue, but they were leagues from where they’d started. The scales on her cheeks glinted in the sunlight, their dullness replaced with a glimmering golden luster. Under Hastion’s purview, Pet’s health had improved by leaps and bounds, muscles manifesting after walks and body revitalizing to what she had when she was first captured.

They met up with the king without much issue, his temporary guard being dismissed as they greeted each other. It took Hastion’s best efforts not to make it awkward and give people a reason to suspect something was going on between the two of them. The walls had ears, after all.

“I hope you are finding the day pleasant.” Inclining his head, Hastion took a seat on the grass beside Pet. “Though I fear I cannot change it if you aren’t.”

King Galengar chuckled at that, shifting his position. ‘It’s a bit hot for my tastes, but it’s good to know Pet’s enjoying this.’

Her nods were eager. ‘Enjoy.’ Signs sloppy, she closed her eyes, lost in the sensation of sun on her skin. ‘Was cold. Now not.’

A frown slipped across Hastion’s face. “Is the temperature in Agro’opoli insufficient? You have never raised an issue with it before.”

Shaking her head, Pet cracked open one gilded eye to watch him. ‘No. Cold inside.’ Her hand thumped her chest and she pantomimed a shiver. ‘Need outside to warm.’

King Galengar nodded sagely as she turned to glance at him. ‘I understand. I will ensure that you have more time in the sun and, when the weather turns, walks through the halls. The dungeons are quick to leech body heat.’

Happy with that, she made a noise of joy as she flipped over to bury her face in the grass stalks. ‘Quiet now. Good. Enjoy.’

She had a point. This outing was going far more swimmingly than Hastion had expected. Most of her walks had ended in her hissing at a noble or screaming like the world was ending when someone unfamiliar made eye contact with her. Even the precious few other dragons passing through the palace avoided her, unsettled by someone wearing the face of the same species as them, but acting like a wild animal the second something unfamiliar entered the picture.

It sent a pang of grief through his heart. Pet would struggle to relate to others now, would have difficulty even communicating with people she didn’t know. Precious few accepted the animistic lengths she’d been trained to utilize, fewer still were patient enough to work out the complexities of her thoughts. It was a travesty, a vibrant dragon reduced to excitement over sunlight and green leaves.

Footsteps off to the side made her perk up, eyes fixed on a point behind him. Grass-stained and clothes a mess, she looked feral, any trace of her usual serene cheer lost in anticipation of a fight. Friendliness drained out of her form, replaced with something akin to a wild dog, teeth barred and eyes wide. Her back arched as she rose onto her hands and knees, a low rumble in the back of her throat a warning.

Before Hastion could intervene, a deep, familiar chuckle sounded from behind him. Ah, Sabzhon Ezkei. Who else could it be? Who else would approach a strange dragon on the grass, clearly not from any of the clans or in her right mind? Who else would be so daring as to disrupt whatever important task the king and his personal guard had set out to do?

“Hello, dear.” Her voice came as a rasp. “May I join you all? It’s a gorgeous day for a conversation.”

Hastion’s heart stopped in his chest. Her reputation preceded her, and no amount of easy conversation and loose, informal clothing could dissuade him of the gory details. The inside of her mouth revealed her power, stained black from her fiery, molten breath. That she had no scars from it was a testament to her species, so easily able to recover from the white-hot liquid dripping from their mouths. Had she kept her mouth closed, he never would have been able to tell her abilities were so notable.

Clanlord Ezkei was not one to advertise her status as matriarch of the Ezkei clan, though. Her clothing was modest and comfortable, rather than the formal dresswear of the nobles. Long sleeves covered her arms, loose enough that they didn’t become overly hot, and black gloves hid her hands. Though it would be rude to ask, Hastion had to wonder if she dressed so modestly to cover the patchwork of scars running along her body or the metal prosthetic she had replaced her right arm with. The dragon had no qualms about nudity—at least, most didn’t. Transforming required it, and thus people adjusted quickly to seeing one another naked.

And yet, Ezkei insisted on loose maroon shirts and wide-legged black slacks, low enough to hide how she walked about barefoot, complaining that shoes were constraining, blinding her to the surface under her feet. The royal family hadn’t protested, not even when Clanlord Ezkei used pet names for them, so the habit persisted.

King Galengar nodded, shooting her an easy smile. ‘You think every day fit to melt glass is a gorgeous day.’

Her lips quirked into a smile as she knelt down on the grass, not caring about how it sullied her clothes. “I haven’t seen myself proved wrong yet. And who is this?”

The Wanderer must have been listening, because Pet controlled herself beautifully. Instead of snapping her teeth at Clanlord Ezkei, she gave a halfhearted snarl, more curious than threatened. Her arms wrapped around her knees as she drew them to her chest, protecting her vitals. Something resembling concern entered Clanlord Ezkei’s features. Shifting to Hissery, she reached out with her good arm, letting Pet get familiar with her scent as best as they could in their human forms.

That Pet would respond with a few hisses of her own, distorted but still intelligible, shocked Hastion to his core. He was no linguist; did Hissery not require a tongue as much as other languages? That would make sense—dragons were not known for their flexible, agile mouths, but why would Pet hold off in this avenue of communication for so long?

Ignorant of Hastion’s internal turmoil, Clanlord Ezkei continued speaking, tone calm and gentle, from what he could tell. No one would believe him, had he had someone to mention this to. The Sun of the Mountains, a woman renowned for her fearsome, merciless combat kills, spoke to a traumatized dragon with the same easy affection and kindness one would to a sick puppy. What angle did she mean to take? Was she under the impression that this would endear her to the king?

Slowly but surely, Pet unwound herself, stretching out her legs and watching the Clanlord with curious eyes. A twinge of annoyance ran through him before Hastion could squash it. All this time spent gaining her trust, working out a way of communicating and Ezkei had completed it in a few spare minutes of her day.

No, this was a good thing. That Pet could speak with someone of her own species was a boon, meant that she could be more easily rehabilitated. Perhaps the Clanlord would even be willing in helping them track down whatever family she had left, freeing her from their confines. Pet couldn’t have been happy at the palace, so restricted in her movements. Staying with other dragons would help her mental health—her social circle would broaden to what it would have been should she never have left, and medical professionals would know what to do with her.

“She tells an interesting tale.” Something cold and dangerous carried under Clanlord Ezkei’s voice, sending a chill running down Hastion’s spine.

Beside him, his king’s expression remained unreadable. ‘A long one, too. I hope your conversation was pleasant.’

Pet trilled at that, a high noise in the back of her throat. Joy, simple, plain joy. She flopped out, face turned up to the sun in exaltation. ‘Good. Have fun.’

“Good to hear.” Hastion smiled at her, close-lipped. “Pet, do be aware that we will be heading back soon. If there’s anything you’d like to do, now would be the time.”

Grumbling, she rolled around on the ground good-naturedly. ‘Good. Too much soon.’

A quiet chuckle from the king made her eyes flick to him, tangling her fingers in the grass. Pet’s soft humming rang out, a tuneless song from ages and ages ago, mingled with the birds’ tittering and the far-off conversations of the nobles and commoners bold enough to brave the summer heat and take a stroll through the gardens.

With a friendly groan, Clanlord Ezkei sat down properly, adjusting her clothing where it had gotten trapped under her weight. The light glinted off of the red patches of scales on her cheeks as she smiled, hair tucked under a pale red headscarf. A couple of low croons in Hissery made their way from her throat, likely some kind of small talk between the two dragons. King Galengar laid back, interlacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes as he took the first break in days.

“I’d like to offer a spot to Pet in my clan.” Clanlord Ezkei said, after a time of their soft chittering.

Cracking an eye open, King Galengar freed his hands. ‘My immediate worry is socialization and overstimulation. It’s Pet’s decision, but I just worry about transporting her, communicating with her, and helping her settle.’

Deep hums heralded the Clanlord’s response as Pet glanced back and forth between them. “Yes, that is understandable. Forgive me, but her Hissery is quite mangled. I would be able to provide a sign-language tutor for her, though. I would also be willing to provide for therapy and any medical considerations. We have the space and time to take her, and she was speaking of how there are no current plans for her release.”

‘That would be a benefit, yes. I simply don’t want anyone to be too unhappy when all is said and done.’ Galengar paused to crack his knuckles. ‘Pet, what do you think of that? Spending a bit more time with us, getting used to the outside world, before being integrated into Sabzhon’s clan?’

Her motions stalled, as if she hadn’t expected to be faced with an actual choice in the matter. Well, Hastion supposed that was to be understood. A great many years had passed since autonomy passed through her hands. Now, given the responsibility of deciding her fate, she scanned their expressions for the right answer. The king and the Clanlord remained calm, hands resting on his stomach and running along the grass, respectively.

Pet started to sign something before pursing her lips, giving the matter more thought.

‘Try. Want try.’

A smile brighter than the sun crossed Clanlord Ezkei’s face. “I would be more than happy to try. It has been a pleasure to meet you, dear.”

‘Then it appears we will speed up your reintroduction to the world.’ The king gave her a cheeky grin. ‘I’ll see how quickly I can set you up with a tutor, though I don’t expect you’ll have much trouble in that department. You understand sign very well, it’s replicating it that’s the issue.’

Her mouth split into a smile at that high praise, fingers tearing bits of grass from the lawn. Overhead, another large bird flew by and she shrank down, eyes on the sky like it was a fearsome thing. ‘Too much very soon. Sleep. Go?’

“Of course, Pet.” Hastion found his voice, rising and offering her an arm. “Let’s get you back home.”

Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she hauled herself up, bumping into him a little bit. She lingered in his personal space, as if it kept her safe from the trials and tribulations of the world. In a way, he did. Hastion came in to fix things when they broke and show her new experiences with some modicum of comfort, and, to her, that seemed to be enough. Her skin was hot, as if a fever burned through her. Dragons were quite odd indeed.

As they exchanged their farewells, Clanlord Ezkei trilled something to her before nudging King Galengar’s shoulder with her own, telling him something that sounded like a joke in Ilvoni. His grin only widened, and his shoulders shook in silent laughter, signing back a sentence so filled with slang that Hastion could only parse out “tree” and “the scaleduck”.

And then, Pet was tugging on his jacket, letting out little whining noises. Soothing nothings dribbled from his lips as he led them away with a goodbye, excusing his absence. Taking Pet through the meandering halls of the palace and down into the dungeons, Hastion couldn’t help but notice the way goosebumps broke out on her skin when the yawning maw of Agro’opoli closed over them. As she recovered some, adjusting to the familiar gloom, she pried her fingers from his jacket, though remaining close enough that her shoulder bumped into his chest every few steps. It broke Hastion’s heart the way she all but rushed to her cell, happily entering the cramped space.

Dutifully, Hastion held the door open for her, catching her attention with some farewell pleasantries. Her hand shot out before he left, latching onto his forearm. With a low rumble, Pet tapped her forehead to it, a goodbye of her own, approximating what dragons did amongst themselves.

“Thank you.” A note of melancholy filled him. “I hope you enjoyed today.”

Enthusiastic nods were her reply as she settled back into her cell, taking a loop around the small space to ensure nothing had been touched, ridiculous as the thought was. Who would come in here, the lightlings?

“I’ll be back soon, you know. And I’ll be sure that you get some teachers to help out.”

Flopping down on the floor, she waved at him, satisfied with what little she could stomach of the outside world. He didn’t have the heart to tell her how different the Moonraker mountains would be, how crowded and lively Clanlord Ezkei’s home was. For a woman with a penchant for adopting strays, she never considered the concept that she should expand her territory or spread them out, electing to house everyone in the same complex until someone moved away or built yet another spire. To each their own, he supposed.

The walk back to the surface was the hardest in a while, even as Pet’s humming faded into the same echoing silence. Quiet reigned down here, funneled and amplified by the warren of tunnels and passages, near deafening. How anyone could stand this, he didn’t know. Agro’opoli must have sensed his distaste, as it led him to the entrance with haste, spitting him out before it needed to stomach more of his thoughts.

Inside the guard office, a few people had seized the tables for their lunch breaks instead of going to a local restaurant or frequenting the cafeteria. A couple of them glanced at him oddly, as if surprised to see their captain emerge from a hidden, ancient door no one had the keys to. Nodding wordlessly to them, Hastion busied himself with his duties.

His shift ended when he came back from the dungeons, the king had insisted on that. Apparently, he was concerned that going down into the dungeons was too stressful for Hastion, on top of his usual workload, so he barred him from continuing with his normal workload on days like this. Though having a break in the week was nice, he didn’t need it. He had his rest day—leagues better than his previous job—and he had his evenings. What would he do with half a day, if not paperwork? At least he could get caught up with the stacks of forms on his desk, needing to be filed.

Hastion resisted the urge to sigh as he clocked out and left the room. As expected, his men uttered quiet acknowledgements and niceties, some averting their eyes when he passed by. They were subdued, much more so than usual. So, Taryn’s termination had actually achieved something. At least he wouldn’t have to field rudeness left and right, demanding respect and getting none.

“Do remember,” he said to no one in particular, eyes drifting to him, “that you do not have servants. Clean up after yourselves and tuck your chairs in when you finish your shift. Thank you.”

A few grumbles marked the guards’ acquiescence though, blessedly, no one saw fit to intervene and make a martyr of themselves. The Destroyer smiled down on him tonight, it seemed, the Destroyer and no one else. Had the Creator deigned to give him Her mercy, Hastion likely wouldn’t feel so exhausted, barely keeping up appearances and making his king proud. King Galengar would not be keen on scraping his captain off the floors.

Trudging through the halls, he regretted informing the royals of his amulet. How they expected him to complete the same amount of work without the boosts to stamina, he didn’t understand. His body ached to sleep, complaining his treatment of it, but there were yet more reports to file, people to brief, so on and so forth. Mercifully, his king allowed him—insisted that he share his coffee table with his guard.

A hand on Hastion’s shoulder took him by surprise. His shortsword was halfway out of its sheath as he whirled around, face to face with an upbeat Lord Nadja.

“Oh, forgive me, Captain Erro’ar.” She smiled, hands held up, placating. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise. I called your name, but I fear you were lost in thought.”

Wonderful. The head of the Seli’in dynasty thought he was a bumbling fool. “My apologies, Lord Nadja. I find that there’s a great deal of things to think about, now.”

Her nod was solemn. “I understand completely. Please, may I walk you to your chambers?”

“It would be an honor.” The words were ashen in his mouth.

Beaming, she looped her arm in his. “Wonderful! Please protect me well, then. It’s quite a treat to walk with our fair captain.”

He was neither fair nor hers, but who was Hastion to debate her? As everyone knew, he was the Oridion’s pet.

A treasonous thought bubbled up in a dark corner of his mind. Should he be rude to Lord Nadja, he would face few—if any—repercussions. His lieges would accept his transgression, believe that he had been provoked. They trusted his word over Lord Nadja’s, if his conversation with Queen Malaidor was anything to go by. Collecting information, too, would land him in her good books. Loose lips often sunk ships, and who knew what lords were willing to slip to what seemed like a sympathetic ear?

As they walked, he did his best to keep up a polite, if impersonal, conversation. Lord Nadja was sober, a concept that, over the years, had grown less and less shocking. Concise and well-spoken, she flaunted her training and status, calmly discussing the news and weather. Had he lacked self-control, her low, smooth voice would have put him to sleep, relaxing and easing away tension. She knew what she was doing, with her simplistic, rote topics requiring minimal input from him. He was meant to drop his guard, to open up to her like a friend, not a party privy to vast power.

“And that is why, in my opinion, one should purchase stock in Eragaj businesses now before the border fully opens.” She said as his thoughts wandered. “The underground will surely take a hit—who will purchase snow wine from the skimmers when the legal avenues are perfectly sufficient?”

That brought his daydreams to heel, snapping his attention back to the present. No one was in the hall—when had she persuaded him to take the less congested areas? Some excuse about appearances and integrity drifted around in his head, half heard and a fourth remembered. How easily she had isolated him, he wouldn’t be surprised to find that his weapons had been stripped from him. And here she was, bringing up the black market to the captain of the guards.

“I’m afraid that might be above my paygrade.” He joked, patting her hand on his elbow. It was a shackle.

Her eyebrow lifted. “I would think that income isn’t something to dictate your musings.”

How much free time did she think he had? The border black market was for another branch of the government entirely. “In times like these, I tend to keep my musings on task, Lord. My apologies if it makes for dull conversation.”

“I haven’t found you dull, if that worries you.” Grinning like he was a meal fit to eat, she shifted closer to him. “If anything, you are quite the fascinating character. Your face is just so… familiar—we haven’t met before your employment at the palace, have we?”

Blood freezing in his veins, it was all Hastion could do not to flinch. “I’m afraid that’s quite unlikely, Lord. I relocated down here from the North.” A lie of omission, yes, but who was checking timelines of random people?

He would have remembered her face—her wealth, at the very least. Even during the worst of it all, he would have recalled serving her through the haze. Their initial meeting was at the palace, he could be sure of that. Of all the nobles, her face had been among the most distinct. That, and what would a member of the dynasties be doing at a public brothel, especially when they had access to the finest escorts?

“The North, really? Quite a faraway place.” Lord Nadja was saying, “Yes, it does seem strange, doesn’t it. You wouldn’t happen to have any siblings, would you? I don’t mean to pry, it’s simply eating at me.”

“Yes,” he heard himself answer. “An older brother, younger sister, and older step-sister.” Lord Nadja didn’t need to know the specifics. “But I doubt you’ve met any of them. They were never keen on travel.”

Blinking, she tilted her head. “Did something happen to them?”

Coppery metal tanged in his mouth as his teeth bit through the inside of his cheek. “It is not something I am keen to speak of, Lord. I apologize.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I understand.” She smiled at him once more. “I take it you came down here to give your family a better life—there’s no need to be surprised, it’s quite the common tale.”

She knew nothing of his ‘tale’, but Hastion gave her a chuckle anyway. “We all do what we think is best.”

“Too true, especially in times like these.” Her nod was serene. “What if I would assist you in the endeavor?”

“I’m afraid I don’t grasp your meaning, my Lord.” This couldn’t be happening. No one would try to bribe the captain of the guard.

Stopping, she turned to him, emerald eyes glittering like sea glass. “It seems that you and I are similar, Captain Erro’ar. All I want is to make your life easier; give you a helping hand, if you would like.” With a dark chuckle, she took his hands in hers. “One thousand flecks per month, does that sound amenable to you? All I need from you in return is a willing ear and a measure of decorum.”

Every thought in Hastion’s mind ground to a halt as Lord Nadja kept walking, tugging him along like he was on a leash. That was easily half of his current monthly income—what would he even spend that on? Avari had everything she needed for the house already, and his bank account only grew with each paycheck. To increase his earnings by so much… it was useless. It would collect dust in the bank, the metal slowly tarnishing.

“I…” He chewed his bottom lip, trying to think of a solution, any solution. “I would have to consider it first. I fear that I am not keen on more… intimate favors.” That had ended with his employ here.

Lord Nadja’s face turned horrified for a split second before falling into something approximating levity. “I would not ask that of you, dear. I have found myself satisfied with my current arrangements in that department. Have you found that to be an aspect of your job? I’ve heard such interesting things about the Oridions, though I fear I know little of their specific departures from tradition.”

“No, my Lord.” Hastion kept his face unreadable. “I have experienced nothing of the sort. Now, unless there is something else you need of me, these are my chambers and I do have some things that require my attention.”

The both of them halted before his door, hiding the plain rooms inside. If… if he needed to please the lord this way, well, it would be important information. The king and queen would be overjoyed to know they had an in to the dynastic families. He had the experience needed, that was clear enough. This was exactly what he had been hired for.

The only complication was that Lord Nadja wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she examined the entrance to his chambers, face a mask. “They’re rather small, are they not?”

“They suit the purpose they have been given.”

A dissatisfied hum marked her answer. “I see. You will find the first month’s worth in your account by tonight; no need to worry yourself about the specifics. Call it a gesture of good will.” That smile gleamed with a predatory light. “I do hope you will enjoy being my friend.”

The ‘my’ tripped her up, marred by a slight hesitation. So, his new mission’s value only grew.

“Your kindness is undeserved, my Lord.” He bowed, perfect and low. “I thank you for accompanying me to my quarters.”

When he straightened, mirth lingered in Lord Nadja’s eyes. Overly friendly, she patted his cheek before beginning her meander down the hall. “It is nothing at all. Do have a good night.”

“And you as well.” Hastion replied to her retreating form.

She paused in her stride, head tilted to one side. “Oh, I realized why you look so familiar. Your brother was Kainei Erro’ar, yes? I was under the impression that ‘Erro’ar’ was a common last name, though I can’t say I’m too familiar with the traditions of the North.”

His world slowed to precious few seconds, grains of sand falling through an hourglass. “Yes, my Lord, that was his name.”

“I witnessed his execution. Matricide, that was his crime wasn’t it?” How could she say that like it meant nothing, like it happened every day? “There was a show of it, Essren wished to make an example of him at the time. Grisly thing, be glad you never saw it. The poor boy was a raving mess at the end of it all. I’m sure you can find it in the records.”

Shooting him a sympathetic look, her lips twisted into a remorseful grin, the most genuine expression he had ever seen of her. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t want to know all the details. My apologies.”

“It’s nothing.” The words came automatically, his lips numb. “I appreciate being informed.”

With a soft noise of empathy, she nodded. “Right. Sleep well, then.”

And she was gone.

Sleep well. Hah. As if he’d slept well in years. This bode more work for him, though there was no pressing time constraint, the one good thing his brother had done for him in decades. At least he could finally—blessedly—wash his hands of Kainei. Running a hand through his hair, Hastion sighed deeply, closing his eyes and thinking calming thoughts.

Fuck.


	14. 1-11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe telling Queen Malaidor his plans is a good idea, thinks Hastion. Maybe she won't have him executed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? tired and exhausted from my workload? more likely than you may think lol

“You  _ what _ .” Shock, plain and clear, threaded through Malaidor’s voice.

Her teacup lay shattered on the floor, tea seeping into the carpet. It hardly registered in her mind, that the floral design would be stained if she didn’t take action to clean it up now, no. She was too focused on boring a hole through Hastion’s foolish, foolish head. Had he meant to commit a mistake so outrageous that she would still hear about it years from now, or did he know the sheer magnitude of what he had just done, the damage he caused?

For his part, Hastion shrank back into the chair, fear plain in his averted eyes. His clothes swallowed him up as hunched in on himself, making his body as small as possible so as to not risk her ire further. Somehow, he had managed to lose the laces of his dark blue shirt, leaving a deep V that exposed a bit more of his chest than should be decent. His pants, too, were far too large for him, hand-me-downs, likely from an older sibling that no longer had a use for them. Was he really that strapped for money?

It took him a second to find his words.

“Lord Nadja offered me a bribe, and I took it.” He repeated hoarsely. “I have a reason, though—I hope you will hear me through, please, Your Majesty.”

If it was a matter of money, then he simply could have said so. Taking her husband’s teacup off of the tray they had been served, she muttered into the cup, annoyance surging up, “Malaidor. I would think you do. If not, well, I think we both know the rulings on that.”

That only drove the wedge of guilt and fear deeper into Hastion’s chest, judging from the way he crumpled like a collapsed house of cards. He had expected Malaidor to turn him away immediately, that was evident enough in how he carried himself when he knocked on her door so late at night on a day he wasn’t meant to be on shift. How a man so dutiful, so aware of rules had fucked up this badly…

When she granted him entrance, he mooned at her décor. Evidently, her quarters weren’t what he thought they would look like, with their ever-shifting style and bookshelves packed with academic tomes Under her direction, the walls were painted light yellow, decorated with mirrors and art in the bedroom and common room. Overflowing shelves took up the bulk of her study, surrounding a bloodwood desk. Her soft, floral carpets covered the floors and the Oridion family sword hung over her fireplace, the mantle home to all manner of trinkets and knick knacks, little glass animals in a variety colors and forms. She hadn’t gone to the pains of collecting them if they were to gather dust in a drawer somewhere.

Urging Hastion into her study, Malaidor bade him to sit in a stuffed chair embroidered with vines of some sort. He did, though his motions were slow with trepidation. Maybe they would have a nice teatime, she naively thought, a nice midnight snack with pleasant conversation. If only things were so simple.

Returning to her own seat, she had picked up her teacup, served to her not ten minutes prior, and informed him that her husband was—predictably—running late, so they would have a moment of privacy. Several moments of privacy, if she knew her husband well. Likely Gal had gotten engrossed in his work, and she had no reason to expect him for another half hour at the minimum, unless she went to his rooms herself and dragged him from his papers.

Her naivete would be her downfall.

The beginnings of a headache pounded behind her eyes as Hastion continued, meek and mollified. “You asked me to keep an eye on the Lords, and I have. Lord Nadja needed a willing ear, and I presented her one. She, of all people, knows it would be treason not to report such things to my superior, but she assumes I will break the law for her.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, movements jerky and stiff. “I only meant to help.”

Rubbing her forehead with a tired hand, the queen’s implacable face twisted into a frown. “So, your course of action was to take a  _ bribe _ . From an opposing dynasty while you worked as a personal guard for the royal family. What would you do if this rumor got out? What would  _ I _ do if this rumor got out? There would be no end of requests to take action.”

“I…” it came out as a croak, fear drying his throat out. “From our previous conversation, I thought you might understand why I did so. I would rather they think me corrupt than find someone else to truly turn against the crown.”

“And thus, you became a double agent.” Surely, some of her stupefaction came through in her tone.

“You could say that, yes, Sir.”

“Malaidor.” The correction came immediately.

Fine. Fine, she could work with this. She could play this game with a new card, ready to draw from her sleeve when she saw fit, but she wouldn’t play happily. One person speaking in the wrong time and place… it would be a media fiasco. The tabloids would have no shortage of stories to run and her opponents would never let her forget how her own husband’s guard had turned against them. The added fact that Hastion had no training in spycraft was certainly not a boon.

With a sigh, she let her hand drop into her lap. “Alright. I can work with this—though I would rather you not write reports on this. Brief me directly, much like this. The less people know about the contents of our meetings, the better. If you think it would help your case, I could pretend to scold you or punish you to make an incentive for you to defect. Nothing would be done, of course.” She added after seeing his expression briefly dip into concern.

With any luck, it would work.

He nodded, features set in grim determination. “It could be effective for people to assume I am being held to an unattainable standard, yes, but how would that affect the optics of your dynasty?”

Hm. Maybe he had a chance. “Good point. You’re very clever, did you know that?”

“I-I… thank you for your kindness, my Q—Malaidor.” A shy blush burned on his cheeks.

“Clever enough to know not to do anything like this again.”

That was enough to knock him down a peg, eyes round and worried. “Of course. I—my apologies—I—”

“Don’t bother; you’re already forgiven. And, regarding the optics: yes, it wouldn’t be ideal for the dynasty’s perception, but I am willing to sacrifice something I can pretend to ‘reform my ways’ about if it makes your task easier.” She took another sip of her tea. “Mind you, it won’t be too simple convincing Nadja of anything. That woman is more obstinate than a waterboar.”

A soft smile spread across his face. “I’m familiar with those types. My sister is much the same way.”

Avari Kadidran, an Orcic woman, one hundred and sixty years old. The product of his step-mother’s first marriage. “I fear you’ve never told me about your siblings.”

His voice was all fondness. “Yes, a younger sister, an older step-sister—she’s the stubborn one—an older brother.” At that last bit, his voice darkened. Who could forget the black sheep of the Erro’ar family, executed two decades ago. It was quite the elephant in the room.

The queen’s expression dipped into something approximating sympathy, though it was likely far from sufficient or convincing. “My condolences.”

“Spare them.” He eyed the cabinet tucked away behind her desk, stocked with all manner of food and drink. “His fate was well-deserved.”

Solemn, she set her teacup down and reached for the half-drunk bottle behind her chair. She rarely had the patience to make policy decisions sober. “It’s quite a shame when it comes to that. As you’re off-shift, would you care for a bit of imbibing? A glass won’t kill you, will it?”

He paused, mulling it over as she took the bottle in hand. Soon enough, though, he nodded. Popping out the cork, Malaidor retrieved two glasses and the wine poured freely. Filling his glass up a bit more than strictly necessary, she handed it to him, holding up hers for a toast. Tradition and good luck, things Hastion needed if he didn’t want to be murdered in his sleep by yet another nameless shadow.

“To our partnership, our health, and our sanity.” A wry, joking tone worked into her voice, and they clinked their cups together.

The wine was expensive. Though Malaidor had dug it out of some forgotten corner in the cellar, left to fester for decades, it still would have fetched a lovely fortune had she taken the time to savor it properly. Here, though, it served the ultimate purpose of relaxing and loosening lips—hers and her guard’s. If she wished to befriend him, it would do her well to let him see her as a person, rather than an avatar of justice, presiding over the minutia of the kingdom, unsleeping and ever working.

“This is good.” Hastion praised, trying to read the Ilvoni label. “Very… um… full-bodied.”

Shooting him a look of fond sympathy, Malaidor stretched, feeling her joints complain at the sudden movement with pins and needles. “It’s alright, I wouldn’t judge you if you aren’t keen on wine. Gal isn’t the biggest fan either.”

A smile slowly crept into his face. “I must admit, I spent my teenage years a fine connoisseur of whiskey and ale, so wine fell by the wayside.”

“I was partial to vodka and spirits.” She said, like it wasn’t the funniest thought in the world to imagine the stoic Elven Queen, drunk off her ass on some high-proof spirits. At Hastion’s choked-back chuckle, she fixed him with a baleful glare, the corners of her lips quirking up. “What, is it that so out of character for me?”

Hastion let himself relax some, draining his cup and resting an arm on the ornately carved wood of the chair. “Only a little, S—Malaidor.”

An undercurrent of amusement overtook her demeanor as she refilled it, topping up her own. “Then I think you might not know me as well as you think you do.” Certainly not well enough to know what her teenage life looked like. There was still a carriage or two missing from the records because of her joyrides. “Nadja may be in recovery, but I assure you, I can drink her under the table.”

Before he could stop himself, a bark of laughter burst from Hastion’s lips. “I’m sure she would rather you didn’t.”

“A travesty that we will never be able to compete.” She took another sip, draining her cup more. Thoughts buzzed at the edges of her mind, resisting the effects of alcohol. “Why would  _ Nadja _ bother to bribe someone here, though? It’s out of character for her. It isn’t as if she spends much time here anyway, what with her countryside manor.”

Leaning back into her seat, Malaidor let her pristine, white blouse crease and rumple, not tailored to anticipate such an unqueenly motion from its wearer. The same went for her black slacks, pressed to perfection and struggling to figure out what configuration their owner wished for them to take.

Focus had been led astray, the aches and pains of months spent working herself into an early grave redoubled, demanding her attention. Malaidor took off her shoes, black heels dropping to the floor as she sighed, work on her desk forgotten for the time being. Had she a mirror, she would have seen the lines on her face, the sheer exhaustion in her features as each day chipped away at her resolve. For all the public considered her an inexhaustible steam engine of change, she still needed to sleep at the end of the day.

Hastion’s cheer melted away as the conversation turned somber. “You raise a fair point. Forgive me for my ignorance, but has Lord Nadja always been so engrossed with Oridion assistants?”

“Yes, though it was only me she targeted. Who knows why—Gal wasn’t considered as dangerous because he married in—but Nadja has never been keen on me, neither as the dauphin nor the queen.” Most Seli’ins weren’t keen on her, frankly.

“Surely they still respect you?” The words were out of his mouth before Hastion could think to stop them. “You’re their  _ Queen _ , for the Destroyer’s sake.”

Sadness tinged her smile. “You would think so, no?”

A tendril of frustration filled his voice. “But you haven’t done anything to earn their ire. Sure, a few places in the entertainment district were shut down, but no one of her family patronized those.”

“The ‘restaurants’, yes.” Precious few people remembered the brothels that had plagued the Old Quarter of the city when she first took power. “That was rather early on, I’m surprised you kept up with developments back then. If I remember correctly, most media outlets were still focused on the coronation and theories as to what the first major rulings would be.”

He stiffened, as if he’d shown more cards than he intended to. Ah. So, she would be looking into his employment history, then, to see if there were any complaints to anticipate. For his part, Hastion relaxed, though it seemed rather forced, taking another gulp of his wine. She could hardly fault him—talking about one’s past was hardly a pleasant matter, considering the past few centuries. People had to eat, of course, and having food required having money.

“I heard a few people complaining about it at the time.” Liar, but a passable one.

More than passable, actually. Nothing in Hastion’s tone gave him away, nothing in his face either. Unfortunately for him, Malaidor wasn’t looking at his face. His shoulders tensed up as he picked at his cuticles, that nervous bouncing of his leg halting for just a moment as he waited to see if the falsehood stuck. He assumed she didn’t notice the deceit, judging from how his knee resumed its jitter.

“Hastion,” her voice was calm as she took another sip of her wine, inclining her head at his leg, “do be aware that you have a rather obvious tell.”

He frowned, following her gaze. “I… I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“You fidget with your nailbeds and your leg stops moving when you lie. I noticed it before, but this interaction has confirmed it. It’s very obvious when one knows what to look for, so I would insist you get yourself out of the habit before trying something serious like stringing Nadja along, for example.”

Face pale, he pressed his hand flat on his thigh, wine glass gripped so tight the stem might shatter. Before he could start with some apology, Malaidor interrupted his thoughts.

“I’m not angry with you for lying; I understand it is a sensitive issue, one you may not be keen to divulge. There’s no harm in that.” Tapping a finger on the body of the glass in a tune only she could hear, she tilted her head, hair slowly but surely coming loose from its morning taming. “I was merely pointing out an issue that would come back to bite you in the future. Nadja is not one to let things slip by the wayside.”

“I thank you.” His voice was tense, no matter how much he tried to force ease into it. “I… ah… I never noticed.”

She shrugged, nonchalant. “It’s quite alright; these types of things are hard to tell when you’re the one trying to parse them out. My family insisted that I learn, and I am thankful for that.”

“Very wise of them. Did they manage to…” Hastion snapped his mouth shut, horror and embarrassment staining his features.

Did they manage to escape the jailings and executions, he meant to ask. Essren had never been keen on the other dynasties, especially not in his later years. Where the Seli’ins had melted into the background, focused on protecting themselves and dipping their toes in quiet deals with the petty nobles, the Oridions had come out guns blazing and fur bristled, shoring up what defenses they could muster with little regard for how the Kadrioses would respond. As the former ruling dynasty, they had accumulated quite a nice bit of power before the death of their king.

It didn’t last, of course. These things never did. One by one, branches of the Oridion clan winked out, like stars at the end of days. The distant relatives disappeared first, assumed to have left the country in search of greener pastures, but destruction came closer and closer to the family’s heart. Once Malaidor had been declared eligible as the dauphin, it had only been her immediate family left.

She remembered their house wreathed in flames as her mother held her tight, dried her tears as they left under cover of night. The smell of gasoline on her father’s hands was overpowering in the small carriage, the coachman driving the horses without so much as a glance at his charges. They would head north. Cross the Eragaj border. They would be safe, stay with family friends before getting back on their feet. Her father hadn’t accounted for the huntsmen.

“No.” Malaiador cleared her throat, forcing herself back to the present. “They didn’t manage.”

Undeserved sympathy filled Hastion’s expression. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, a bitter taste on her lips. “It’s alright. I couldn’t have been older than twenty, just finishing up elementary school. I have had time to come to terms with it.”

He bit his lip, considering his next words. “I know what it’s like to lose your parents.”

“Yes, your brother. I wasn’t…” on this plane? Dimension hopping? How could she say that without opening herself up to unanswerable questions? “I wasn’t in the city, but I heard after the fact. I’m very sorry—”

“No—well, yes, but I lost both my parents. And my little sister.” He sighed, finishing up the last dregs of wine in his cup. “Not to be selfish, but may I have a bit more? It’s a rather unpleasant story to tell sober.”

In an instant, Malaidor refilled his cup. “You are under no obligation to tell it.”

His smile was bittersweet as he took a few large gulps. “I want to. My father died when my mother was pregnant with my little sister, but he was never in our lives much. Maybe my brother resented that, I don’t know. Mom remarried, a lovely Orcic woman with a child of her own—my stepsister—when I was fifteen, first grade or so in school.”

An all too common tale that, under Essren, ended in tears and tragedy.

“My brother wasn’t too keen on that, especially not with how Ma treated us like we were her own kids.” Hastion paused, letting his eyes trace the blooms on her carpets, face clouded in gloom.

“So, he killed her.” Voice soft, Malaidor rested her hand on his chair’s armrest, a vain attempt at comfort.

“Slashed her throat and sent Mom to the kyanis, same with my little sister.” At her silence, he elaborated, “Tainkyani and Reikyani. King Galengar mentioned helping me find her but…”

Good. Very good that he trusted her husband enough to ask for help. “Then she’s in good hands. If anyone can track her down, it’s Gal.”

Hastion only set his face in a hard line, nodding. “It’s been years, now. Whatever happened, happened; not much I can do about it now. Sorry to be such a downer today.”

Putting as much fondness as she could in her expression, Malaidor rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s good to learn more about you; and I greatly enjoy our conversations together, even when they’re about childhood traumas. Better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Whatever’s in the tabloids.”

Her dry response left Hastion chuckling, smile coming easily. “Some of the guards were talking about the latest headlines the other day.”

“Oh, spare me.” She shot him a faint smile, touching one hand to her forehead in mock exasperation. “Please, tell. I’d love to hear what mess the nobles got into.”

Leaning back, he relaxed some as he wracked his memory. “Well, some anonymous source claims to have seen Lord Hekion leaving Lord Theolin’s manor under cover of night.”

“An illicit affair, how interesting.” She covered her mirth with a sip of wine, disappointed to find her glass so empty. The last of the bottle filled it decently. “How much stock do you take in it actually being true?”

He snorted at that, covering his face with one hand. Evidently, half a bottle of strong wine loosened both their lips perfectly. “Please tell me you aren’t considering it.”

A noncommittal shrug was all the ground she was willing to give. “You never know; they could be frolicking together through fields and soulfully staring into each other’s eyes when we aren’t paying close attention.”

“They hate each other!”

Malaidor rested an elbow on her knee, amusement clear in her voice. “Haven’t you seen the looks they shoot one another when they think no one is watching? Theolin is smitten with him and everyone with a pulse knows it.”

“No one but you knows it, not even Lord Graeus.” He grumbled into his cup. “Do you really think he would let his only son court Lord Hekion?”

“Graeus isn’t that bad.”

Hastion raised an eyebrow at that.

A pang of pity for the lord ran through her. In Malaidor’s humble opinion, Lord Graeus’s public image was undeserved. The man was kind, very kind, judging from how close he and Theolin were. Not too many nobles would raise a bastard child, dumped on their doorstep at six days old, so lovingly. Theolin had grown up knowing his father cared for him, even though he never showed it in traditional ways.

Before she could respond, the door to her chambers opened, her husband walking in with a silent groan. Gal looked haggard. Judging from the way he glared at the stonelights, he had the beginnings of a headache. Hastion flinched to attention, spine straightening as he did his best to keep anyone from getting the wrong impression, should the king have an entourage. Gal just glanced over them, a deeply tired glint in his eyes. His expression softened, though.

‘Wow, drinking without me.’ A little chuff left his chest, lips turning up into a smile. ‘Don’t let me interrupt whatever important conversation I walked in on.’

Fondness bled into Malaidor’s gaze, erasing stress lines and smoothing out her voice. Gal had a way of doing that to people, setting them at ease with a single word. Maybe it was his presence, a gift from a long-forgotten God that gave him this aura of peace and placation, no matter how excited he got. It was ideal for a king.

“No, this is perfect timing.” She waved him over, amused when he rolled his eyes at her. “We were having a discussion over some rumors Hastion overheard with the guards.”

Galengar raised an eyebrow, turning his steel gaze to the guard.

Caught in the middle of a sip, Hastion swallowed quickly before speaking. “Some people think that Lords Theolin and Hekion are in a relationship.”

Galengar laughed at that, a squeaky thing—the noise coming more from wind whistling through his throat than any vocal cords he might have had—face splitting into a wide grin. ‘You’re kidding me.’

“They are!” Her voice rose and a note of pride settled in Malaidor’s chest at the expression of emotion. “You’ve seen them!”

‘I’ve seen them at each other’s throats, yes.’ He leaned over her chair, plucking the wine glass from her hand.

Malaidor let him take it, opting to turn and look at him instead. “You and I both know that it’s a ploy to keep their parents from finding out.”

‘You are so sappy, did you know that?’ The words were mouthed, but she had no issue understanding him. At this point, she could grasp complex sentences from an exchanged glance. They spoke paragraphs without a single utterance. ‘You’ve been reading so many romance books. This isn’t a fantasy world with skyscrapers and flying ships, Mor; these are two nobles, barely adults in their own right, fighting over who gets to rule after your death.’

She huffed at him, tapping his nose with her gloved finger. “Or retirement. You just don’t believe in romance. You don’t think that one day you’ll find someone you love more than anything, someone who will make the entire world seem right, even for just a moment. Someone who you would move mountains and drain seas for.”

A glimmer of something, a mixture of hurt, frustration, and an indescribable longing flicked across his face before Gal squirrelled it away. Her heart hurt for him, the way he so easily rejected dreams of happiness in favor of her, in favor of the current norms. Her husband deserved joy—deserved more than that. He should have had someone that loved him unconditionally, a person he could rely on for affection and attention. Instead, he placated himself with her, a cold and callous wife, and his guard, terrified to deny him anything. No wonder he never fussed about the spark of romance.

Rolling his eyes, he swept the papers off of Malaidor’s desk and plopped down, putting his legs up on her armrest. Like this, reclined and dressed for comfort, he could have been a model in a magazine, perfectly poised. His white shirt was billowy, serving to both obscure his chest and highlight his form as it cinched, tucked it into his black pants. The dark fabric clung to his thighs, looser around his calves.

There was a reason that Galengar was considered the most attractive king in centuries, millennia according to some. His appearance was the pinnacle of beauty, wonderfully perfect.

The entirety of him was, if Malaidor could be honest. High cheekbones and an oval-shaped face had served him well, even with his golden hair lopped off enough to fluff up into loose curls, not yet past his ears. Though traditional beauty standards would call his eyes too dark a grey to be appealing, he made them work, especially with the talents of the makeup staff. His nose was a slender thing, wrinkling when he truly smiled and laughed, one of her favorite features of his. Bow lips completed him, just the right shade of pink. He had  _ color _ , a rare thing for elves, and it made him more beautiful, more than gorgeous.

Politely ignoring the way Hastion barely resisted drooling over him, Galengar lifted an eyebrow. ‘Why should I? Romance is as real as talking clouds and little people, wandering Idran to grant children’s wishes while they sleep. I’d rather put my stock in something real.’

“I think true love might be real.” The words were out of Hastion’s mouth, though his eyes struggled to leave his king’s dainty hands.

‘Then I sit here, the only non-fool in a sea of jesters.’

As he leaned over her desk, laying on his back and reaching down to the drinks cabinet, Malaidor thumped his knee lightly. “Scholar is the word you’re looking for. And stay out, I have expensive shit in there.”

Hastion flinched, as if he hadn’t expected Malaidor to curse. Well, yes, she supposed it was his first time hearing her be vulgar, but that didn’t mean she was completely and utterly innocent. At least she was good at code switching. Galengar, on the other hand, took the familiar profanity without even a blink, kicking her chair good naturedly. When he sat up, an opened bottle of vodka in hand, he gave her a grin.

‘I wouldn’t take the good shit, you know me. Plus, I need to catch up with you two.’

“I thought you had a headache.” She leaned an elbow on her desk, her tone jesting.

A pantomime of shock settled over his face. ‘I never said that. You must be putting words in my mouth.’

“It wouldn’t be the first thing I put in your mouth.” The quip was out before she could think about the implications, her husband dissolving into little giggles.

Hastion chuckled at that, amusement shattering into blushing embarrassment as their attention turned to him.

‘Oh, is something funny?’ Despite the seriousness of his words, Gal still had that easy smile on his face.

“Of course not.” He smiled and Malaidor felt something in her chest twist.

Laughing, Galengar motioned to the floor between them, tea drying slowly among chips from the porcelain cup. ‘And what happened here? Did Mor decide she was done with pleasantries and throw down the gauntlet? Shall I referee fisticuffs again?’

Hastion’s face paled, smile freezing in place as his queen opened her mouth to respond. “No, dear. Your lovely little guard informed me that he was so eager to act as a spy that he started without us by taking a bribe from our very own Lord Nadja Seli’in.”

Silence stretched, not her husband’s usual silence but a heavier thing. The cheery mood had shattered. He stared at Hastion, horror trickling into the edges of his demeanor. Shrinking back into his chair, the guard looked as if he wished that a pit would swallow him whole, hiding the shame within him. His mouth flapped open and closed, sorting through words to make the situation any better and finding no winners.

‘Do you realize how dangerous that is?’ Signs quick and alcohol forgotten, Galengar nearly spilled Malaidor’s wine onto the much-abused carpet before she snatched it from his grasp. The vodka in the bottle sloshed ominously under his ministrations. ‘How unnecessarily  _ risky _ that would be? What was your plan? What did you think would happen if you were found out? How could we try to protect you if this got out?’

“I-I—”

“Gal.” Putting Hastion out of his misery, she gave the man a sympathetic look. “It’s alright, I’ve spoken with him. If he comes to harm, I’ll take complete responsibility for it.”

His ire turned to her, though she had years to get accustomed to his anger. ‘He shouldn’t be in the position to come to harm in the first place!’

“I made the decision myself.” The wine served to bolster Hastion’s confidence. “I know what the punishment would be, and I will happily bear it if need be. Allow me to help you, please. It’s the least I can do to repay your kindness.”

Options flashed across Galengar’s face as he weighed them carefully, picking through the pros and cons. Even exhausted, he was still the sharp and clever man who had gotten them out of more scrapes than she could count. Why he asserted that Malaidor was the smarter of the pair, she never understood. He was just as capable, just as fearsome, if not more so.

‘I won’t be happy about it, you know.’ His consolation caused Hastion to flinch like it cut him, dipping his head and fixing his gaze on his lap. ‘And I don’t want you sticking your neck out for us. I don’t want to be wondering whether or not it’ll be you on the chopping block.’ He frowned, crossing his legs and taking a swig from the bottle of spirits. ‘It isn’t fun. I really brought the mood down, didn’t I.’

“You’re just a messy drunk, dear. I’ll think nothing of it.” A grin glittered in her eyes when her husband gave the back of her chair a friendly swipe, doing his best to remedy the tension in the air.

With a huff, he took another long drink and let himself lean back. ‘I am not, and you know that.’

“Then slow down and go to bed, we have meetings in the morning that you will  _ not _ go to hungover. Take a shower and head to bed—I intend to rest as soon as I finish my conversation with Hastion.”

Rolling his eyes, he laid back on the desk, setting the bottle down on the ground. ‘Fine. Why am I the one meeting with the Lords anyhow? None of them listen to me; it’s a waste of time.’

She frowned at that, pulling his shirt down where it had come loose to show a sliver of his stomach. “They do, dear, just not in front of you. You suggest a policy decision and I see an oddly similar one on my desk a few weeks later. Graeus takes note of the things you say, Nadja too. Their subordinates might not, but that’s meaningless to us regarding policy decisions.”

“They understand sign as well.” Hastion added quietly, draining the last of his wine. Between the two of them, they had polished off half a bottle of rather strong wine. He must have been feeling the effects, even if he didn’t show it. “They don’t watch me when I speak for you, they watch your hands. It’s noticeable, when one looks for it.”

A game changer. When had the two other nobles elected to learn to sign? If it had been after the two of them came to power, then how hard had they worked to gain fluency in such a short period of time? Who had been their teacher?

If it had been before… would they really risk their lives like that, only to find it quite useful when the newest king—by pure happenstance—spoke to his peers exclusively in sign language? Why put their necks on the line like that during Essren’s time? Why had—

“Malaidor, Sir?” Hastion’s voice tore her from her thoughts, concerned.

Galengar had walked over to him, face only slightly flushed from the alcohol in his system as he leaned over the other man’s chair, worried gaze on her. Her returning nod was tense enough to let him know she wasn’t keen on discussing her musing at the moment. Later. When they were more sober. When there weren’t prying eyes and ears.

Setting her empty glass on the table, she smoothed down the front of her shirt. “Yes, my apologies. I’ll let you sleep, the both of you have quite a day ahead of you.”

‘With any luck, it will be better than today was.’ The signs were quick and loose enough that another person would have mistaken it for mumbling.

“I’ll see to getting you more luck, then.”

Her husband rolled his eyes at her, pressing his lips against the nape of Hastion’s neck in farewell. The man jumped at the sudden affection, watching Malaidor for any sense of unhappiness before he turned, daring enough to place a chaste peck on Galengar’s cheek, smiling as he drew back.

A blush took root on Gal’s face, faint enough to be mostly covered by the flush of alcohol, but there, nonetheless. It… stung. Something inside her hurt at the sight, the pair off in their own little world comprised of affection and softness. The feeling’s intensity surprised her. Malaidor had never been a jealous person, but was that the issue, the instant she had a person to herself, she would dig her claws in? Could Galengar be happy with her as she was?

How could she hope to compete with Hastion? The two of them exchanged touches so casually, relaxed into each other like nothing at all. Trust flowed between them so easily. Unless she acted, this would be her life, relegated to the second most important person in Gal’s life, nobody’s favorite.

Clearing her throat, she stood, outwardly calm as ever. “Now, if it’s alright with the two of you, I shall take my leave. It  _ is _ rather late.”

They got the message, hightailing out of her chambers with “goodbye”s and “thank you”s, Hastion awkwardly setting his wine glass down on the coffee table as Galengar blew her a cheeky kiss. As the door closed, it was as if a piece of the world had been sealed off with it, some indescribable brightness shut away behind expensive varnish and yet more expensive wood. It was as it always was: Malaidor alone, picking up the shattered remains of social interactions.

And her teacup. Stepping on that first thing in the morning would be a nightmare and she had precious little hope of getting those stains out of her carpet.


	15. 1-12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal couple redecorate and have a nice chat

‘You’re mad.’ Galengar let his eyes wander around his wife’s freshly organized bedroom, taking in the new arrangement of paintings.

He could laugh at how predictable she was. Whenever she got upset, Malaidor’s first instinct was to redecorate her immediate surroundings. Her chambers had taken a vast array of forms, from tapestries to carpets to—currently—paintings. On one memorable occasion, Galengar walked in on her, paint can in hand, turning the bathroom ceiling into a forest canopy. That particular mural had hardly lasted a season before she decided an underwater scene would be more fitting. Who knew what the next would be.

Now, though, her distress and frustration were only enough to mess up the paintings she already had. A few of them had changed locations on the walls, a collection from a specific artist spread out to act like windows into a woodland. His wife favored landscapes and naturally inspired artworks, so the hodgepodge made for quite the interesting collection, all nestled together.

“I’m not mad.” She glanced at him in a floor length mirror, readjusting the reflective surface with a frown.

Her hands gripped the gilded frame hard enough that he worried it might snap. Knuckles white, she held it up, trying to gauge how it would look in the midst of her current aesthetic. Drawing her lips into a tight line, her grimace only deepened as she scowled up at the walls. Ah, so a fresh color was soon to come. One of these days, she was going to chop off all her hair and dye the rest black; a “fuck you” to all the nobles complaining how she didn’t follow fashions.

With a sigh, Galengar crossed the gulf of assorted—now floral—carpets and took the mirror from her.

She started, as if she’d forgotten he was in the room in the span of a few seconds of silence. “I’m fine, really. Why don’t you take a seat, I’ll be done in a moment.”

‘Well, you’re fucking with your mirrors again, so I don’t think you’re all that fine.’ He mouthed. ‘How high do you want it?’

“A few inches above your head. And what is that supposed to mean? Am I not allowed to redecorate?” Taking a few steps back, she folded her arms, assessing the new placement. “Higher.”

He rolled his eyes but obliged her. ‘You hate it when the mirrors move, claim you can’t tell what I’m saying because the usual spots aren’t reflecting anymore. That and I have to get used to where they are now.’ Without interrupting him, she gestured for the mirror to be higher still. ‘I guess we’ll be speaking face to face now—is this high enough, you skyscraper of a woman?’

“Yes, this is fine, thank you. I am perfectly average for an elf of my age, you know.” She got out a pair of bondstones to fasten it to the wall.

Galengar would never get used to how casually his wife used enchanted items. In the Northwest Territories, most technology came from Ilvon and enchanted items were hardly household staples. Not many locals had taken stock in Galailan’s universities, and centuries of isolationism had granted them no boons. Areas farther west had been spared the bulk of the damage—the Scorched Lands had dissolved into absolute anarchy—but most items were made at home.

Not in the capital, though, no. Here, magic was a currency in and of itself, arcane items available at the drop of a hat and several thousand flecks. Most were a waste of money. Why buy something for so much when you could just do it yourself?

Pressing one half of the stone pair to the back of the mirror and the other to the wall, Malaidor exhaled, letting the magic take effect. They glowed, adhering to each other with a soft click and holding the mirror up. Carefully, Galengar removed his hands, still afraid that the antique glass and frame would come crashing to the floor.

“You’re so scared.” A note of amusement wove through his wife’s voice. “We’ve done this many times, you know the bondstones will take.”

‘It’ll fall one day, I can promise you that. I don’t see why we can’t just nail it to the wall.’ He grumbled, crossing his arms at the end of his signs.

Malaidor just huffed, looming over him affectionately. “You can blame King Ai’kari the Wise for that. No damaging the underlying structure.”

‘Not very wise of him.’

“I’ll keep it in mind.” She picked off a piece of lint from his shirt, smoothing the fabric back down. “Is it time for exposure hour already? I could have sworn I had the whole day left to go through a few more proposals and treaty negotiations.”

A grin slipped across Galengar’s lips as he signed, careful not to bump into her in such close quarters. ‘Could have fooled me, from the stack of papers your attendant just set on my desk.’

She waved her hand through the air, dismissing the thought. “Those aren’t too pressing, but I’d like to have them back by week’s end, though I see we aren’t talking about the binders you sent my way of economic proposals.”

‘I just think we could stand to expand the highway system, especially into the Northwest.’ Shrugging off his jacket, Galengar draped it over his wife’s desk chair. ‘It would streamline trade with Ilvon, you know. What I’d give for a real, reliable radio. The arcanists have left me lacking.’

Her sigh was all fondness. “I’ll see what I can do. It  _ would _ be wonderful to get some exchange going between Galailan proper and the west.”

‘Of course. It’s time to start, though. Shall I sit in the same place as usual?’

Hesitation passed through her like a spirit, but she still nodded. That jovial atmosphere had all but evaporated, leaving only tentative anxiety in its wake. This wasn’t the first time, not even the tenth, they had gone through this part of her recovery, but it made her heart pound like nothing else. Malaidor picked at her gloves, taking them off gingerly, as if the very air could burn her.

As she got ready, Galengar settled in, sitting down in front of the large mirror and undressing to his comfort. Couldn’t work on being alright with skin-to-skin contact without skin, after all. For all his wife worried, she was getting much better at it. After pushing through her initial distress, she usually found herself having a bit of fun, poking her husband to see him jump and try to stay still for her. It was a normalcy she craved.

He had taken off his doublet, leaving him sitting cross-legged in only his white undershirt. Leaning forward, he stretched out his back. It cracked and popped, so immensely satisfying that his ears perked up in pleasure. A couple of aches and pains resolved themselves as his muscles relaxed. He closed his eyes, reaching his arms out so that the tips of his fingers brushed against the soft carpets, embroidery patterns familiar under the pads of his hands. He stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the first bit of rest in a long day.

“Are you ready?” Malaidor’s voice came from close behind him.

Straightening up slowly, he nodded, eyes on the mirror. She had taken her spot behind him, wearing a loose, unrestrictive blouse and no gloves. She scanned his face, searching for any trace of discomfort as she waffled, hands drifting about the space around him, unsure of where to roost.

His calmness fueled hers, they had realized that early on. The more relaxed and at ease Galengar was, the better her reactions were. Perhaps it was trust, her body taking cues from his on what would hurt. She rarely had flashbacks from this now, instead being able to work through the discomfort enough to progress. These little sessions helped her prepare for the bigger ones, the ones her psychologist walked her through.

Chilly fingers brushed against his spine and Galengar sighed in relief.

‘It’s so hot today.’ He said when she sent a confused glance his way. ‘How you’re cold, I don’t know, but I’ve been sweating all day.’

A nervous chuff was her response as she walked them up and down his clothed back. “I’m glad to be of help.”

‘As am I, and I’d like to remind you that you told me to tell you to touch my skin and not my clothes. I won’t melt and neither will you. Your words, not mine.’

“I remember.”

With grim determination, she let her hands play across his bare shoulders, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Galengar kept his breathing slow and even, despite the threat sleepiness posed, as she feathered her fingers down his arms, toying with his fingers. Bit by bit, the tension bled out of her form as she messed around, poking and prodding him.

Now and then, he would flinch and let out a soundless yelp when she happened upon a particularly ticklish spot. She slowly scooted closer to him as they worked, worming her cool fingers under his undershirt to investigate the muscles of his back. When she pressed against the lingering knots of tension, he let out a silent groan. She repeated the motion and he felt himself relax more, happily bending to expose more of the snarls in his flesh.

“I see I’ve found something you like.” She crowed, triumphant.

Shooting her a good-natured scowl through the mirror, he cracked his neck, the sharp sound soothing. ‘Stab me, I’m tired and it feels nice.’

“Oh, it’s quite alright, dear.” Malaidor hummed, letting her hands wander down to his lower back. “You’re my little stress ball.”

‘I’m not little, you’re just six foot four.’

Raising an eyebrow, she squished his sides, watching him jump. “Again, perfectly average for an elf of my age and breeding.”

He didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, continuing melting into her touch as she rubbed the tension out of his lower back. It made sense that she preferred this to her original light, feathery touches. Being able to get real feedback for something rougher was satisfying, reinforced the message better that no, this wouldn’t hurt her nor her husband.

“Is this still alright?” She leaned forward a bit, glancing at his face with a tinge of worry.

‘It’s perfect. Just move a little down and to the left and—’ when she did, one little bit of soreness unwound, an ache that had plagued him for near on a week now.

He groaned, letting his head hang as his wife resisted the urge to laugh at him, how pliable her sprite of a husband was. Gods, he missed this, being able to relax and sit back while someone worked on him. It had been far, far too long. Back rubs were an ambrosia and he would eat his fill of it. His spine hurt all the time, but this crumb of relief was worth the wait, even if Malaidor wasn’t the best at giving massages.

Head full of wool, Galengar let his eyes slip closed and breathing deepen, body drowsy and comfortable in the odd position. If he could purr, he would have started long ago. A soft chuckle from behind him made a sleepy smile slip across his face, tired from far too many meetings. One night of sound sleep would patch him right up, but he had never been one to hope for miracles. Foggy thoughts drifted through his head as he let out little exhalations of satisfaction.

A finger trailing up the shell of his ear brought it all crashing down. Ice flooded into his veins. He held still for his wife, only resisting the urge to flick the tip of his ear away from her touch through training. Her other hand had stopped at his hip, rubbing little circles into his skin. She must have felt him tense up, even slightly, because those hands stilled immediately.

“I…” The mirror revealed how she was poised over him, frozen in place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

‘It’s alright.’ He signed without a second thought.

Her hands folded tight in her lap. “It isn’t. I should have asked, should have known better.”

He shook his head. ‘I was just startled, is all. Sleepy and startled. We can stop here if you’d like, by the way. No need to push yourself more. No harm done.’

Picking at her sleeve, she lingered, as if he were about to faint on her. “Are you sure?”

With an exaggerated huff, Galengar turned around, his body slowly registering that he wasn’t in any danger. ‘Very. Is there something bothering you? Don’t you want to tease me for being all sappy, falling asleep in your arms like a damsel in one of your bodice rippers you love so much?’

“Yes, it was very adorable.” Her eyes traced the collar of his undershirt, expression unusually unreadable. “I wasn’t aware you enjoyed having your back touched so much.”

The faintest of blushes fought its way to the tips of his ears at her wording. ‘What can I say, back rubs are nice. They can help with back pain sometimes.’

She nodded, fingers strolling along her shirt’s hem, running the fabric over her skin soothingly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Thoughts prickled at the back of his mind. Normally, his assurances smoothed over any worries she had. She’d tease him a bit, get him to laugh, and all would be forgotten when she grabbed one of said bodice rippers to read aloud to him as he took a nap on her couch. Now, though, she stayed, tentatively watching him with a mixture of worry and anticipation.

Taking note of his confusion, she steeled herself, anxious, but refraining from her usual self-soothing motions. “When we married… do you remember the conversation we had?”

Nausea churned in his stomach. This was it, he was being thrown out of the palace because Malaidor had found someone to be her real husband, not a friend to help her rule and grant her a semblance of legitimacy. She had gone and fallen in love and now needed to have the awkward conversation of replacing him. Maybe he’d find work out west or get housing in the Polythallas. Surely, someone would want a guard, or an accountant, or an economist…

‘Of course; we play at romance and provide a dual force until the kingdom is used to our rule, and then we can go our own ways.’ His hands only shook a little bit as he spoke. ‘To prevent a coup, we watch each other’s backs. I had assumed we would need a bit more time before we addressed this, though.’

Malaidor’s eyes widened, the realization bringing a stutter to her words. “N-no, that isn’t—you misunderstand me. I…” She ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes. “I was wondering if you’d like to stay after the kingdom is stabilized and settled. I know I would miss you dearly if you left, but I won’t force you.”

He stared at her, searching for any trace of deception. Though something lingered beneath her strategically blank expression, there was nothing to indicate she was lying to him. His rash of good luck  _ had _ to run out one day. That moment was coming soon, and he needed to prepare for it. The kingdom’s patience would run thin and he would be thrown out without a second thought, left to fend for himself in the wilds. If he was especially unlucky, they might seal him away in the dungeons.

His wife was not one to toy with him, though. That she was leaving something unsaid unsettled him. ‘I wouldn’t be opposed.’

“Good.” Traces of uncertainty still floated between them. “Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

Nodding, Galengar shifted his position, propping himself up with one hand as he lay back onto soft carpet. Serious conversation had not eradicated his exhaustion. Down on the ground, he realized more had changed than he initially thought. The bottom shelves of her bookcases had been cleared out, their tomes redistributed to other locales. Instead, she had placed little panes of stained glass in the small space, hanging from the wood above. They drifted in an unfelt breeze, glinting in the stonelight.

When he looked back at her, the pristine white gloves had returned, completing her ensemble. She hadn’t bothered dressing up for him—she never did—but an unusual air of formality plagued her tonight. It was as if she’d come expecting a far more intense conversation. The blouse she wore was nice, not the simple, comfortable shirts she was so partial to. Her pants, too, could have been worn to a meeting with her advisors rather than wasted on him.

He sighed, the ticking clock on the wall loud in the silence. ‘You still haven’t told me the issue, you know. You don’t need to, but it’s not healthy to keep it bottled up.’

“I don’t think I have the words to explain it yet, if I’m being honest.” She let her hands fall into her lap, fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt. “I’ve been trying to puzzle it out, but I’ll let you know when I do. Silly feelings and all, right?”

‘Feelings are the worst.’ A chuckle slipped past Galengar’s lips, soundless yet distinct. ‘Not to change the topic, but I am so unexcited for the dynasties’ party. I’d ask if we really,  _ really _ have to attend, if I thought I could get away with it.’

Groaning, she let herself flump back onto the carpet, eyes on her ceiling, painted to look like a starry night sky. “Welcome to the Oridions. I wish we could cancel too. It feels like all we do is make appearances at parties and socialize with the nobles in between meetings and paperwork. A break would be much appreciated.”

She looked up at him when he nudged her foot with his, ready for his response.

‘What if we get “sick”?’ His grin was all deviousness. ‘How could they fault us then?’

“Oh, they’ll find a way. I can see the headlines now: ‘Oridion Dynasty Weak Link!’, ‘Royals Sick, Country in Disarray’.”

With a grumble, Galengar pushed a few stray strands of hair out of his face. ‘I think they would be fatalist, then.’

“And the other dynasties?” Raising an eyebrow, Malaidor cracked her knuckles. “I’m sure Graeus would be thrilled to bits if I missed a meeting due to illness. It would certainly give him a means to push some of his legislation regarding the propriety laws.”

A huff left Galengar’s lips. ‘For someone claiming to be alright with the other species, he’s rather set on propriety. Is Terioak going to be at the party? He keeps sending me these… glances like he’s trying to intimidate me. I know it’s a dumb complaint but—’

Malaidor cut him off, frowning. “It isn’t. He has some gall, trying to challenge his  _ king _ like that. Who knows, I might send some more work his way, if he insists on being so interested in speaking with us. I might even summon him for a meeting.”

That certainly brought the mood up. ‘He would shit himself if he got a missive from you.’

“I can see it now,” lifting her hands as if framing a photo-image, Malaidor made her voice dramatic. “He’s sorting through his mail in the morning and a servant is pouring his morning tea. Black. Two sugars. An unholy amount of milk.”

‘I thought he would be more partial to herbal teas.’ Galengar interrupted.

She glanced at him through the aperture she made with her fingers. “You’d think that, Gal, but I don’t think he can stomach the complexities of the flavors. Terioak has never been one to examine things, wouldn’t you say?”

A smile crept onto his face at that, at her being silly with him. ‘Of course. Carry on, Your Majesty.’

With a soft chuckle, she rolled her eyes and continued, “He’s leafing through his mail when he sees it: a letter from Malaidor Oridion, current reigning monarch. ‘What’s this?’ he thinks, ‘What could I have possibly done to warrant a communique from the great and honorable Queen?’” She politely ignored her husband’s snort. “And then he opens it.

“ _ ‘Lord Terioak,’ _ it reads in that horrid script that the nobles all like so much,  _ ‘you have been summoned to a meeting with the Elven Queen regarding your behavior in court. Please respond as soon as possible. The times provided will serve to be your options for when this meeting will take place, so please schedule it quickly. Thank you for your support and understanding.’ _ ”

Laughing so hard his face hurt, Galengar fought to sign. ‘No signature?’

“I need to keep him on his toes.”

‘You’ll send him to an early grave with that.’ He trailed off, letting the signs hang in the air. ‘This is nice, talking and joking around.’

Confusion, fleeting and faint, flitted across her face. “How do you mean? We talk all the time.”

The genuine guilelessness in her voice stung more than it should have. His chest ached at how concerned she sounded, as if he had informed her of some need she hadn’t been attending to. More and more, she rushed to his aid at a moment’s thought, fussing over him like he had been at death’s door. Waking up to his wife sitting vigil over him, too scared to fidget as she waited for him to rouse from some illness-induced sleepiness… Making her worry was far from his intention.

Not that he could tell her that. One word of that elusive feeling stirring in his stomach as he tried to sleep would be her downfall. All he could do was shove those treasonous thoughts aside as slumber strayed further and further away. Her skin was soft. That stuck in his mind most, how soft and smooth her skin was, running over his palms, his arms, his back. It distracted him so much, drawing a blush from him.

Her perfume haunted him—his own damned wife’s perfume, a scent he smelled every day, so familiar that he could pick motes of it from an empty room, haunted him. He could compliment her about it, sure, but only in passing, only to support her. To actually admit that he noticed it—that he liked it, she would reject him immediately. He wouldn’t be thrown from the palace, she had more scruples than that, but it would certainly make their days much more awkward. Her scent would linger in the hallways, her hands just out of reach. There would be no one to joke with, no one to complain about the workload to, no one to run her fingers over his shoulders and back and—

No. Malaidor wouldn’t want to know the kinds of places his mind frequented when thinking of her. She would be nauseated, sickened. Galengar would be the laughingstock of the Oridion dynasty: the man who so eagerly pursued his wife that even she rebuffed him in favor of ruling alone. Less respected than the entertainment, he would never hold office again.

“Gal?” Her voice snapped him from his thoughts, head jerking to look up at her. Seeing his palpable confusion, she relaxed, as if worried about him. “I asked what you meant. Do you want us to talk more? I know we haven’t had time to read together or watch one of those kinos from Ilvon, but I could always make some time for you if you asked.”

Arranging his thoughts, Galengar tried to push all those lingering images of her out of his mind before his body woke up to them. ‘All we do is talk about work, or parties for work, or people we hate at work. I just… I just wish we could talk about something dumb and inconsequential.’

“Well, if you want inconsequential—”

‘No.’ He interrupted as her eyes immediately flicked to her bookshelf. ‘Not your sappy romance novels. Please, spare me.’

“Oh, don’t be that way! They’re fun!” Her protest came out closer to a squawk.

With as shocked an expression as he could muster, he replied, ‘I wasn’t aware that the same plot over and over was fun—and yes, it’s the same plot. Tortured character A is living a sad and lonely life. Enter character B, a gorgeous bombshell that acknowledges A’s existence and validates them, but is ignorant of their true feelings. Slowly, over the course of a million chapters, they realize they love each other but won’t admit it—’

“That’s not—”

‘I’m not finished.’ He tossed her an affectionate grin. ‘Then, character C comes along, wonderful and jaw dropping as well, and throws a wrench into the works. He’s gentle and loving and sweet, and A and B both love him, but they love each other, and there’s a whole thing about it. B starts dating C, A is sad about that until they have a long, emotional talk about it. The next chapter, one of them dies, the other two get together, cry on each other’s shoulders and recover, happily ever after, the end. It’s unrealistic.’

Sighing, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think so. I think it’s very romantic, how they find love and beauty in things not traditionally beautiful.”

‘It’s because you’re gorgeous.’ The words were out before Galengar could think to stop them.

A beat of silence hung in the air, surprise plain to see on Malaidor’s face. Her hands froze where she fidgeted, a light blush, so faint that Galengar could have imagined it, staining her porcelain cheeks. No flick of her ears, no subtle shift in posture revealed her inner thoughts, their breath mutually held at his impulsive declaration. Gods, he was a fool. He was more than a fool. A king that couldn’t hold his tongue was hardly a king at all.

“I’m not that—” she hesitated, reluctant to state something objectively true, “I’m not that beautiful, but thank you.”

Shaking his head, he let out a disbelieving smile. ‘You’re kidding me. I don’t have the intellectual prowess to describe how stunning, world-stoppingly amazing you are right now, but remind me later and I will.’

Her expression softened, body relaxing somewhat. “Of course. Why don’t I change the topic of conversation this time. Have you gotten the chance to look through the plays to see what we’ll be watching? We’re due to see one in two weeks and I picked last time.”

Plays. Shit. ‘I… um…’

“Forgot?”

Galengar’s eyes strayed to the wall, laughing nervously. ‘I’ve been busy! I read through them, I just haven’t had the chance to get tickets yet. Or tell anyone what I picked.’

“Why don’t I take care of it, then? I wouldn’t mind, and it wouldn’t be too much additional work.”

‘Fine, but only because I’m cooking you something this weekend.’ She perked up at that. ‘I think you’re the only one here that actually  _ likes _ my cooking, you know.’

Her sigh was all exasperation. “You’re the only one who uses spices, am I to forsake you? But yes, what play is it?”

‘There was one that caught my eye, the one about an elf moving to the Northwest Territories, meeting a human, and settling down to start a family. The second act is the burnings and how they try to escape the Scorched Lands before dying to Essren’s military. I think it might be a fun one to watch!’

Malaidor winced. “It sounds a bit… depressing? Wouldn’t the latter half be quite sad?”

‘It’s a musical from the Northwest, of course it’s going to be sad.’ A faint frown settled over his features. ‘If you don’t want to watch it, I can find something else, it’s no issue.’

For all the Northwest had recuperated from its losses, licked their wounds and sowed their crops once more, their media had never returned to its original state. Old myths and songs had fallen by the wayside as a new renaissance of tragedies had taken their place. Sad tales of lovers split in the war and homes lost in the fires were commonplace, the most famous easily quoted and performed again and again. It was… cathartic to see others react to these plays, to face the horrors that had occurred while they turned their backs on the Northwest.

“It’s alright.” Malaidor was saying. “I just wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

It took everything in him to bite his metaphorical tongue, to keep from saying ‘it was uncomfortable when Essren’s bounty hunters marched in the streets and burned cities, it was uncomfortable when our militia closed off the Galin border, it was uncomfortable to live under years of rations and war’, but that was far from appropriate sentiments here.

She hadn’t made that call, hadn’t had enough power to affect it in the slightest. When his cities burned and a foreign military marched in his streets, she had no means to take up arms, to point a rifle at a headhunter and join the V-B force. That was never her decision to make. Not that it stung any less, the knowledge that the nobles had looked away as his people died in the hundreds, up against an army with more might backing them. It was only when they turned the tide that anyone paid attention, that anyone—

“Gal?” His wife’s brows had drawn together, concerned.

‘I’m fine.’ The response came immediately. ‘I was just thinking.’

Worry stained her voice. “You don’t need to go to this play if you don’t want to. No one would think any less of you for not wanting to see something like that.”

‘I do. I want to go. It’s… it’s nothing. I just remembered something from my time with the V-B, before I was captured. It’s not important.’

Leaning forward, she stopped short of taking his hand. “You can talk to me, you know that. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

He could have laughed at that. The last thing Malaidor would want was him regaling his time with the service. Guerilla warfare turned most stomachs and, if the nobles knew what he’d done in his youth… well, they would certainly look at him with different eyes. Not many would be able to reconcile the idea that the Sun King of Galailan, the Elven Whore, a man known for not being the brightest bulb—for his muteness, no less—but favored for his cheery personality had killed without batting an eye. Essren’s reign did that to people, it seemed.

‘Really, it isn’t important.’ He laughed, though it came out more artificial than he intended. ‘I guess I just miss travelling with you, sleeping under the stars, cooking our own food, walking the day away.’

Her demeanor turned bittersweet. “I do too. I can try to see if there’s a way that we can go camping, spin it as something for positive PR.”

It surprised him how much he genuinely wanted that, how excited the very thought of sleeping outside with his wife made him. It would be like old times, before their every breath was so heavily scrutinized, in the public eye whenever they left their chambers, words analyzed for any shred of possible deception. Getting away from it all sounded… nice. Very nice. Even if it was only for a weekend, it would help with the fatigue.

‘Please.’ A genuine smile slipped across his face. ‘Something out west would be nice. They have some beautiful hot springs in the foothills of the Vandeerie Plateau, right between the mountain ranges. Wouldn’t that be fun?’

She made a show of thinking about it. “Well, I  _ am _ a fan of hot springs. The only issue would be dragging guards out there and getting them to leave us alone long enough to properly enjoy them. And an excuse to be there, of course.”

‘The geological society.’ The idea popped into his head like an impartation from an old god. ‘We could say we’re visiting them and making a show of supporting the sciences.’

“That… might work.” Excitement glittered in her eyes. “I’ll see what I can set up. You might want to pack warm clothing, as I’m sure we’re both busy until autumn. Do you think Hastion would be opposed to being hauled halfway across the kingdom to go camping and look at rocks?”

Shaking his head, Galengar stretched out, his back cracking loudly. ‘I don’t think so, and you can always bribe him with those little sausages they have up there. Gods, those have to be the best things in the world and no one in this city can make them properly. They always add some odd sauce and it just tastes wrong.’

Her laugh, a rare thing, was like clouds parting for the sun. It made his heart skip a beat, giddiness flooding his brain as his wife  _ laughed _ , actually laughed, at something he had said. This was better than the highest praise, better than any honor that she could bestow unto him. It filled his chest with little fluttering butterflies and ground any thought he had to a halt.

By all accounts, her laugh wasn’t pretty. It was harsh and sharp, close enough to a cackle that people would think she was the villain in her own story should they hear it. It squeaked and creaked in all the wrong places, unpracticed and unexpected, but it was the most genuine, unashamed laugh he had ever heard in his life. Malaidor laughed like a woman who had never heard a chuckle before, and he loved her all the more for it. To his ears, it was the most beautiful cackle in the world.

“I’ll look into the sausages too, don’t you worry. Consider it an early birthday present.” Her pale gaze was transfixing.

It took Galengar a moment to find his words again. ‘It’s alright, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself.’

“For you? It’s nothing.”

Fighting down the flush threatening his composure, Galengar let his eyes slip from hers as a goofy grin covered his face. ‘You’re so sappy, did you know that?’

She rolled her eyes amicably. “Considering you take the time to tell me every day. I should hope I’ve realized it by now.”

How could he not let out a soft chuckle at that, hiding just how fond his smile had grown behind a hand. Somewhere in Dalitar, a dozen clock towers chimed, letting the denizens know just how late they had stayed up. Counting the rings in his head, Galengar let a pinch of guilt run through him at how he had kept his wife up past midnight.

‘It’s late.’ He said, like it wasn’t obvious.

Adopting a thoughtful expression, Malaidor hummed. “So it seems. Perhaps we should call it a night, wouldn’t you say?”

With a nod, Galengar reached for his discarded shirt and jacket, pulling the cloth over his head in preparation to leave. When he stood, his wife stood with him, hovering around as he put his things in order, adjusting his clothing to look vaguely more presentable. Gods knew Hastion would check his rooms to be sure that no one was hiding behind a curtain, waiting for the king to lower his guard so they could stab him to death with a rusty knife. While it was good that the guard worried, there were times where he might have been a bit too anxious and underestimated his king’s skills.

Slinging his bag over one shoulder, Galengar didn’t bother with his shoes. He was just walking through the connecting hallways between their rooms, no need to fuss around with boots when going barefoot would serve just fine. The cool stone under his feet calmed him anyway, thrumming with ancient sentience and power.

Before he left, he took a glance at Malaidor’s desk, a fresh can of paint hiding under it and stacks of paper to sort through on top of the worn wood.

‘Hey Mor?’ Her answering hum came not a second later. ‘Don’t work yourself sick tonight, alright? We can’t do fun things if you feel like you’re about to die of exhaustion.’

“I’ll do my best.” She said in that voice that meant that no, she wasn’t going to slack off on her duties just because her husband asked her very nicely.

Well, at least she would keep the suggestion in mind, especially when the sun rose and she was still sorting through files and arranging meetings that could—arguably—wait a week or so.

An exasperated, but fond, sigh slipped past his lips. ‘Fine, I’ll just have to accept that. Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning.’

“Wait.” The word burst out of Malaidor before she could stop it, hand reaching out to Galengar as he turned to leave

He paused, adjusting his jacket. This was… not how things went. The script had been thrown out and a novel written in its place. ‘Is something wrong?’

Biting the inside of her cheek hard, she let her hand fall. “I… was wondering if you would like to stay the night, like we did before everything. If not, that’s perfectly acceptable. I would never force you to do anything you wouldn’t want to.”

His breath stuttered. A pleasant ache settled in his chest, the knowledge that while she wouldn’t ever know his true feelings—should he not stray from his plans—she still harbored some affection for him. Even now, she waited for his cues, an inverse of what should have been. The queen by birth, standing in her own chambers, asking for her lowborn bastard of a husband to grace her marital bed.

‘I wouldn’t mind; your snoring is wonderful white noise.’ He smiled wide, setting his things back down.

With a nervous huff, she rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad to hear.” Though deadpan, traces of humor lingered in her voice. “I take it you know where everything is, so I’ll tidy up here while you freshen up.”

‘Yes, your Majesty.’ Dipping into a deep, sarcastic bow, Galengar went to raid her closet in favor of bedclothes that fit him.

Most things in there were far too lacey for his tastes. Despite her modesty, Malaidor was keen on lace and frills and pretty white nightgowns, while Galengar favored loose, comfortable shirts and pants, all hidden under a thick sweater for bed. Unlike his wife, he got cold easily and was less than thrilled when his shivering woke him up at night.

He got lucky when he made his way to the back of the closet. Uncovering a black shirt, several sizes too big for him, and grey cloth pants, Galengar couldn’t help but grin. This would be perfect. The box they’d been placed in was falling apart, unlike the neatness Mal so favored. Old and worn, they were just what he liked, though why someone had placed them so far back in her dresser, he didn’t know.

After a few fruitless minutes spent searching through the walk-in closet for a sufficiently comfortable sweater, he simply gave up in favor of another blanket to drape over himself. His wife wouldn’t mind, she kicked them all off in her sleep, anyway. He tossed the clothes onto the bed before stripping out of his own, setting them in the laundry hamper without much decorum.

Crossing into the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and took a quick bath, wiping off the ick and sweat of a long day inside. A knock on the door heralded his wife coming in to clean up before bed. She politely looked away as he finished up, not bothering to have a long, luxurious soak in the lukewarm water. As he toweled himself off, he caught her eye in the mirror. Admiration had been tamped down as she kept herself in check, likely resisting the urge to stare.

‘Should I drain this and run another one for you? I know it’s late, so…’

“Just leave it.” She spat out her toothpaste, cleaning up and placing her toothbrush in its holder. “I can take care of it, don’t worry.”

With a nod, he returned to the bedroom. Dressing himself was a quick ordeal. Washes upon washes had made the clothing soft against his skin. He grabbed an extra blanket from an unlocked wooden chest set artfully out of the way and covered the dark blue bedspread. As he extinguished the stonelight on his half of the room, his wife returned, doing the same to the bathroom lights.

“Oh.” It was quiet, just loud enough to register.

Turning to look at her, wrapped in a towel, Galengar knitted his brows together at her faint gasp.

She started, as if in her own little world. “Sorry, I just wasn’t aware I still had those. They were my mother’s; there wasn’t enough space in her trunk, so she packed some of her clothes in mine.”

Great job, Galengar. Wonderful. So perfect. Husband of the year.

‘I can change, if you’d like—I didn’t know—’

“It’s alright. They suit you. I’m sure they’re content to be worn again after so long.” A gloved hand patted his shoulder, the motion stiff with unfamiliarity. A note of grief still hung in the air. “Now go to bed, unless you intend to keep waiting up on me until the sun rises.”

He gave her a little bow, doing his best to insert the levity she so desired into his speech. ‘Of course, Your Majesty. Would you like me to summon an attendant for some warm milk as well?’

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a gentle shove. “Sleep. You need it, especially with what we have in store.”

Obediently, Galengar let himself be herded off to bed, curling up under the blankets and stealing one of Malaidor’s pillows in the process. His wife got dressed for the night, pulling on a pair of lacey drawers and a loose white tank top. As she turned out the rest of the lights with a “goodnight”, her clothes swished together, marking her path. The bed dipped when she climbed in, the covers rustling as she settled.

Her arms came around him hesitantly, as if expecting to be rebuffed. He flinched, even as Malaidor draped the comforter over his back and pressed him into her chest, cheek resting on the top of his head. His heart hammered in his chest, the very idea of sleep cast out of his mind. This… this was something else. Had her therapist suggested she try to connect with him more? Did she think she was mistreating him by withholding affection? Breathing coming fast, she only held onto him tighter, like he would melt into shadows and smoke come the morning.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, manicured nails biting into her own skin.

Patting her sleeve, Galengar projected as much sympathy as he could, silenced in the dark. It seemed to help some. After a long moment, she accepted it, nuzzling his head and shifting, getting comfortable in this new position. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. Here she was, making herself so uncomfortable for him, just because he mentioned missing physical contact.

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to do this for him, to make herself suffer just so he could sleep a little sounder. What they had before functioned, and that’s what mattered. He could sleep on the other side of the bed from her without fuss, it would still be a comfort to have her close, laying on her stomach with her snoring like she meant to bring down the rafters. One of these days, he was going to tell her how soothing her snoring had grown. After years falling asleep to it, quiet seemed so unnatural.

His face split into a yawn as his body urged him to relax, give in to the warmth of his wife’s bed and his own exhaustion. He was being held, was that not enough? Someone had cradled him in their arms, what more did he want? They would watch over him as he slept through the night. Everything would be alright.

Slowly, insisting on the pretense of a fight, he let his eyes slip closed and his breathing even out. They could deal with all these tricky feelings in the morning, after their meetings and reports and briefings and… and… and he would have to wake early so Hastion could retrieve him for his first battery of briefings. Maybe he could send an attendant to let him know when he woke up. He’d remember. Probably.

Just before he was asleep, thoughts foggy and sluggish, his wife shifted once more, voice so low as to be a rumble in her chest, individual words hard to make out. The last thing he heard, half heard, and a quarter understood before darkness took him.

“Thank you.”


	16. I-4.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadja has a short talk with the father of her child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 interludes over 2 weeks :3 did i write too much? yes, oopsies

Nadja sighed, letting her head drop into her folded arms. Papers cluttered her desk, complaints to look at, projects to sign off on, and meetings requested in advance. For all the benefits an increase in power had for her, she was keenly aware of  _ why _ the Elven Queen had shoved all these minor issues onto the dynasties. There simply weren’t enough Oridions left to deal with them, and they were so trivial that, should Nadja try, she would find she had gained nothing aside from her queen’s thanks and compensation for her troubles.

Keep your political enemies too busy to plot your downfall, but not with work they could levy for their own devices, how clever. Hailing from a different school of thought than Essren, Queen Malaidor was far more passive in her ways. No one had been thrown in the dungeons for quite a long time, but no one had the time to plot against her—none that Nadja knew, anyhow. Graeus and she had both been swamped under a tide of paperwork and arbitration, so discussion came hard. At least their meeting today would help balance the load somewhat.

Even here, in her home, she never got a moment to think. Work needed to be completed in a timely and accurate manner, and the queen was not afraid to call a personal meeting if some slight error caught her eye. Nadja had learned quickly that letting things fall by the wayside was going to be nigh impossible, with the way Queen Malaidor pored over the files Nadja sent her like she expected to find the meaning of life. Maybe she did and this was what gave her life purpose, finding computing errors in nobles’ work.

With the Seli’in’s usual revenue generation avenues cut off as the queen legalized immigration, emigration, and a slew of reforms, her family found themselves tightening their belts, looking towards their traditional sources of money. Though Nadja knew this was a ploy to get them to better upkeep the land they lorded over, it still stung that the queen thought they had been doing that shoddy a job. Her estates were  _ not _ in disarray.

Groaning, Nadja sat up and pushed her current work—a disagreement over a stretch of border between two petty nobles that  _ should _ have been easily settled amongst themselves—to the side, ready for a break. The warring parties seemed to send her something every other week. At this rate, she might as well ask the queen to confiscate their lands; clearly, they weren’t fit to rule if they couldn’t negotiate a damnable stretch of border.

Yes. That would do. Their houses hadn’t been in power long enough that their removal would rock the boat, and no other major players were in the region to challenge with her. Someone might trouble whoever the queen chose to replace them, but Nadja would be willing to side with the Oridions on this issue. The combined strength of two dynasties would far overpower anyone in the area and Graeus wouldn’t dare disagree with the two of them acting in conjunction.

It was funny; perhaps this was how politics used to function before power hungry rulers bastardized their system. History books mentioned a majority being needed to get anything concrete done, with the dynasties working in conjunction to make decisions for the kingdom. The throne had less power back then, the dynasties more. Perhaps she would broach that to the queen as well—she was so set on fairness and equality, perhaps she would consider this to madness. It was a longshot, but there was some evidence of a historical precedent to back her up, at least.

A knock on the door shook Nadja from her thoughts.

“Come in.” She called, scribbling her thoughts down on her notepad before they slipped away.

The richly decorated door to her office opened, revealing her lover standing on the other side. A smile graced her face the moment she saw him, fond as ever. Gingerly, he closed the door behind him, taking a seat across from her with slow, elegant motions. His clothing was simple, though well-crafted, a shirt and shawl covering his arms, a cursory veil over his face. At Nadja’s wave, he removed the translucent fabric, folding it neatly in his lap.

“Hello, my Lord.” The orc bowed his head, a placid smile on his face. “I heard that you wished to see me?”

When he lifted his head, a pang of heartbreak ran through Nadja. A bruise lingered on his cheek, turning the skin a yellower shade of green than it normally was. Something had hurt her orc, and he hadn’t told her. That hurt the most, more than his downcast silver eyes, anticipating pain and vengeance for his misdeed.

“Avram,” reaching her hand across the desk, she tilted his head so she could see the mark better. “What happened?”

Those stunning metallic eyes, rimmed with black sclerae, drifted from hers. “I fell. My apologies, I did not want to disturb you in your work.”

She let her hand trail down to cup his cheek. “It isn’t a disturbance if it’s you. I so enjoy speaking with you, and I do hope you feel the same way.”

“Of course, Lord Nadja.”

“Just Nadja when we’re alone.”

A faint grin pricked at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Nadja. Thank you for your concern. What was it you wanted to speak with me about?”

“Oh, let me stall a bit more; some small talk, we can even take tea in the meanwhile. Would you like anything? Please, don’t hesitate, it makes me so happy to care for you, you know.”

He bit his lip, tongue running over his filed-down tusks out of habit. “There is nothing I would like more than to please you.”

“Then please me by telling me what you’d like in your tea.”

Her hand was already reaching for the wire to summon a servant when he protested. “If I may be candid, I already took tea an hour previously. Had I known you desired to drink with me, I would have waited. Thank you for your attentions, though.”

Sighing, Nadja let her hand drop. The last thing she wanted was to repeat their first few months together, Avram watching her eat with that deep, all-encompassing hunger in his eyes, his stomach cramping hard from years of malnourishment and mistreatment.

That Queen Malaidor had so quickly shut down the kyanis was a blessing. It had been the first beacon of hope Nadja felt in a long, long time, the knowledge that those in Evekyani would not suffer the same fate as her orc. He had been given to her as a present, some twisted combination of a fertility charm and a gag gift. Others had the chance of rehabilitation, living normal lives with some luck. They wouldn’t have become the poster child of the camp, a monster broken and molded into a loving servant, happy to lie back and be used for the singular purpose of reproduction.

Where Reikyani made pleasure servants, Evekyani made fertility servants. The difference, though small, was significant. Rakies were toys, given to nobles who had pleased the king, while Evies were granted to nobles having difficulty conceiving. When Essren heard wind of her attempts to have a child without marrying the father, he sent her Avram. A joke and a warning, considering his opinions on crossbreeds.

Well, the joke turned on him quickly, hadn’t it.

“It’s our son.” She finally said, letting her chin rest on the back of her hand. “I just… I don’t know what to do with him anymore. He runs around at night thinking I don’t notice and comes back with someone else’s cologne on his collar. I’ve tried to speak with him about it, but all he does is shut me out. I… I don’t know anymore.”

A warm hand closed over hers, Avram watching himself lace their fingers together. “He’s growing up, doesn’t want his parents meddling in his love life. Of course he wouldn’t talk about who he’s seeing with his mother.”

“I just worry.” She ran her thumb along his, a welcome distraction. “I know he’s old enough to go about this on his own, but I don’t like that he’s keeping it a secret from me. The Queen has been consistently good with these types of things and he’s scared of something being revealed…”

“I’m sure he isn’t doing anything foolish. Hekion is a smart boy.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she squeezed his hand gently. “Would you be willing to speak with him? If I send for him, it’s only going to make him want to address it even less.”

“Of course, consider it done.” His fingers tightened around hers, a small, daring motion that took them years to get to. “If this consumes your thoughts so much, why don’t you ask Lord Graeus if he’s seen anything. I’m sure he would help out once you explained the situation.”

A laugh bubbled up in her chest. “I don’t think Graeus would be so keen on tailing my son for me. His, either. Theolin is on a rather long leash. I’ll have to address the…” she made an eating motion with one hand. “It isn’t healthy to lose that much weight.”

“I see, I’ll keep that in mind, then.” Avram nodded, relaxing into his chair somewhat.

Even still, Nadja couldn’t shake lingering doubts, guilt coiling in her stomach like an adder. “Do you think he resents me? Hekion, not Theolin.”

That smile fell, concern taking its place. “Why would he? Of all people, he should know what you’ve done for him, the life you’ve given him at such risk to yourself.”

“And yet, he feels the need to sneak around. He’s old enough to know better, but here he is, acting like a lovesick teenager.”

“He’s hardly an adult, Nadja.” Avram chuckled, a soft, faint thing that wound its way around Nadja’s heart and squeezed tight. “He wants to feel like he’s getting away with something, and that’s alright, you know that. At the end of the day, he comes home thinking himself so grand and smart for hiding his little nighttime friend, but he loves you, nonetheless. He was too well behaved as a teen, so he acts out now.”

Despite her best efforts, a smile wormed its way onto her face. “He was a horrid teenager; it was an absolute  _ nightmare _ bringing him to heel. It’s no small blessing that Essren never noticed him running around the manor.”

“Destroyer above, I remember.”

“The carriage he—”

He held up a hand. “We agreed to never bring the carriage up again and you have informed me that, should you do so, I was to smack you.” Lightly slapping her hand, he let his fall back to his lap. “Consider my promise honored.”

Laughter bubbled up from her chest, genuine and long overdue. How long had it been since she had smiled and chuckled, not some calculated endeavor to mislead and convince, but because she found something genuinely amusing? It had to have been weeks, now, weeks of stoicism and strategic emotions, words winding around in some mockery of candor.

“Thank you, Avram.” Her grin was wide when she met his gaze again. “I suppose I needed that.”

Resting his hand back onto hers, he gave her a fond smile. “Of course, Nadja. And do remember: you are a good person, and a good mother. Not many would take me in, and even fewer would keep Hekion during Essren’s reign. That both of us are alive and happy here… I couldn’t imagine how that would fall into your plans for world domination.”

Somehow, that little message, delivered with all his characteristic droll humor, brought tears to her eyes. She sniffed, gripping his hand tight for a moment as she composed herself. It was one thing to tell herself platitudes she’d memorized years ago, but it was another entirely to hear it in her orc’s voice. Avram gave her privacy, idly glancing around her office as he waited, patiently scanning the titles of her books for what must have been the millionth time.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled. “What do I have to cry about?”

“You’re under a great deal of stress; it’s entirely understandable that you would need to cry at times.” The answer came immediately, those placid, gentle eyes on her.

Nadja couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m the head of the third most powerful noble family in the country, there’s hardly anything for me to be stressed about. Just throw money at it, no?” The last sentence came out with more bitterness than she intended.

An uncharacteristic frown settled over Avram’s face. “You’ve spent the last thirty years performing for a madman with absolute control to keep your family safe from execution and torture. I would say that’s rather stressful. Said maniac sent you—someone who had been recouping from her third miscarriage—a traumatized, broken man to taunt your failures in fertility, and, when you  _ finally  _ gave birth to a child, he would have had him executed if he could get away with it. Your extended family urged you to break ties with me, with us, and, when you didn’t, they turned their back on you and forced you to rebuild your own financial security from the ground up. That’s rather stressful, I’d say.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry, I… I’ll see a therapist soon, I promise. But I have a meeting in a bit, and I would love to get more work done before it. Thank you, really.”

“Of course.” That frown melted into fondness as he brought her hand up to feather a kiss against her knuckles. “You’re a good person, do your best to remember that. Also, you need to update your library again; the next few books of the Forgotten Ages history I like came out and I eagerly await reading them.”

Her brows drew together. “The head of staff knows that you have a blank check to get whatever you’d like whenever you’d like.”

He shook his head. “He instructed me to ask you, sorry.”

“I’ll have a talk with him. This is the third time he has disobeyed that direct order.”

“If you intend on dismissing him, Valerie would be a good replacement.” Avram offered. “She’s meticulous and knows how to handle people well.”

Nadja couldn’t help but smile, one corner of her mouth pulling up. “I’ll take her into consideration, then. Thank you. I’ll send a missive after I finish with drafting this letter to the King’s personal guard.”

Curiosity glimmered in his gaze. “Oh? Has something happened?”

Tilting her head, she fiddled with her pen, taking care to keep the ink from spilling out onto her hands. “I don’t know, actually. He frequents the King’s room long after he should have gone off shift for prolonged amounts of time. I worry that he’s being taken advantage of, being held either because of his family history or for lack of funding.”

“So, your course of action is to send a letter?” His tone belied his confusion.

“Er, no.” A light blush settled over her cheeks. “My initial course of action was to give him some more spending money, if only to see if it was a financial matter. The letter is the next tidbit of the plan, as his pattern of behavior doesn’t seem to have changed.”

He laughed at that—not the dignified chuckle drilled into him, but something closer to a wheezing snicker, expression split into a grin so wide Nadja worried his face would shatter into little, tiny bits. Creator, Nadja loved him when he let go of propriety like that. All of his howling whoops and misplaced mumbles and hoarse laughs filled her heart like hot tea in a mug.

“You  _ bribed _ him?” His words were incredulous, his lower status forgotten in the moment.

It took her a second to find her words. “I couldn’t think of anything to get close to him! So, I bribed him… to be my friend and have tea with me. He’ll be coming over this weekend, please be aware of that.”

“Wanderer, Nadja, you’re his patroness now!”

A burning blush on her cheeks, she set her head down on her desk, groaning. “Don’t say it like that, Avram, please. I’m begging you.”

He didn’t address her over his cackling, a beautiful sound, even at her expense. Mirth-filled tears welled up in his eyes as he folded over, giggling into his arms. “I can’t believe you, canoodling with a man so young. What a cradle snatcher, you are. What next, will you be paying him to come by and take tea in your  _ private _ chambers? Should I prepare myself like a Reiny graduate?”

“Don’t.” He blanched at her sudden seriousness, silenced.

It unsettled her when her husband spoke of things like that. Though it was a small mystery how Eveikyani and Reikyani victims saw each other, hearing it from a man she so earnestly loved and trusted was something entirely different. He played off his derision and mockery as appropriate, as if he had learned it like a script, internalizing.

“My apologies—”

“Avram.” She interrupted him without a second thought. “Do you understand why I find that kind of talk upsetting and disgusting?”

Straightening, he let his eyes fall to his lap, the picture of demure obedience. “Yes, L—Nadja.”

After a few seconds of waiting, she prompted him to continue. Embarrassment tinged his ears as he spoke, voice steady, though strained. “Victims of Reikyani and Evekyani both deserve respect for what they have gone through. Their lot in life was not their fault, and their recovery should be honored. It upsets you when I put down victims of Reikyani as they do not deserve mockery.”

“Thank you.” She pushed a few stray strands of hair out of her face. “Terioak thinks the King was in Reikyani, did you know?”

Avram’s slow, incredulous blink was all the response she got.

Nadja kept speaking. “I’m not very keen on that theory, though. The King is rather well adjusted, if he is from Reikyani, and he happens to be married to someone Essren would never give a graduate to. There’s always the chance of an escape, but no one was in the camps by his name.”

“But you doubt yourself?” Came the quiet, stunned question.

“He… he acts odd.” With a sigh, she looked up at him, searching for some guidance in those silver eyes. “When he makes eye contact, his eyes waver down for a moment, as if he needs to remember that he’s permitted to look. He looks to his wife before making large policy decisions, submits to her in public, and lets his guard get so close to him only after months of companionship. The attendants report that he rarely asks for things outside of mealtimes and is content to remain in his rooms for the bulk of the day. It’s  _ weird _ , Avram.”

Avram furrowed his brows, lips slightly pursed. “I wouldn’t say it’s too odd. He is a man unused to having power and servants. It makes sense that it would take him time to adjust.”

“He acts like you at times.” The sentiment, unfiltered, left her lips without her say-so.

“It is an honor that you think so.”

She shook her head. “No, that isn’t what I mean.” What  _ did _ she mean? “He was scared, especially in the beginning of his reign. He was  _ terrified _ . Every interaction with him felt like walking on eggshells and he would never turn his back on us, as if we would fall upon him, knives drawn. He still doesn’t. I don’t think anyone, save his guard and wife, have been within arm’s reach of him in months, at this point.”

“So, he isn’t partial to people.” Avram shrugged. “Acceptable, given the circumstances.”

“He doesn’t like people the way  _ you _ don’t like people.”

Raising an eyebrow, Avram let his posture lapse. “And his guard? You’re assuming a lot about a man who keeps his cards close to his chest.”

With a sigh, she waved the sentiment aside. “You’ll understand when you meet him. And yes—you will meet him. King Galengar and Queen Malaidor are far kinder than Essren was, and I’ll be dragging you along to the autumnal ball they’re hosting. The nobles know enough to respect whoever I bring as a guest and, as Hekion’s father, it’s expected for you to come, so don’t you dare try to weasel out of it like you did last year. Your presence was missed, and I think I might go on a murder spree if I have to make the same excuse over and over again.”

“If you insist.” Doubt stained his voice.

“It will be fun.” She promised. “Or, well, as fun as a royal ball can be. I’m sure there will be plenty to talk about with the other noble spouses.”

A wry chuckle slipped past his lips. “Of course. We’ll go on and on about how much we adore fashion and travel and exotic foods, or whatever you all talk about. I would have guessed paperwork, in all honesty.”

“They’ll have maple cakes.”

He instantly perked up, eyes glinting. “How do you know?”

Smiling, Nadja caressed his cheek with her knuckles. “The Queen adores sweets and it’s the autumnal ball, so she’s setting the menu. I’m sure they’ll also have crab, what with the storm coming in soon. The ocean will be all churned up and crustaceans plentiful. Though, I could always save you some, but I don’t know how much you want or how long it would remain fresh for…”

“I’m going.” Had he had less self-control, Avram would likely drool at the thought of so much food. He had, years ago.

“But what about—”

“I’m going.” He repeated, shoving down a smile at her triumphant expression. Distantly, a door closed, and a carriage pulled away. “And now, I’m going to speak with our son, or Lord Graeus, whichever of them is unlucky enough to come through the door first.”

Nadja shot him a look of sympathy. “Will I see you for dinner?”

Pretending to think on it, Avram tapped his chin as he rose. “Well, I don’t know. Will you be serving venison?”

With a sigh more affectionate than exasperated, Nadja acquiesced. “Yes, I’ll let the head chef know.”

His grin could set fire to the sun. “Then I eagerly await it.”

“I love you, even if I have to cook around your tastes.” She leaned forward expectantly, folding her hands on the table.

Avram pressed his lips to her forehead, warm and soft against her skin. A huff slipped out of her mouth as she tipped her head up, trapping those lips with hers. Though chaste, she kissed him soundly, ruffling his perfect hair and bringing a flush to his cheeks. She could feel the corners of his mouth pulling up as they parted, the smile settling easily onto his face. Adjusting his clothing and replacing his veil, he wished her well before he left, a little bounce infecting his steps.

It was so good that he kept cheerful. More and more, sadness crept into his features, growing when he faced rejection or ostracization. The house must have gotten so stifling now, so many years later. One could only walk the grounds so many times before all the trails and paths burned into one’s memory. Hopefully, the ball would help, would encourage him to spend more time in the company of others.

Turning back to her work, Nadja dipped her pen into the inkwell unenthusiastically. A thousand million things to do, and only so many minutes in the day to do them with. As she pulled a sheet of paper from its sheath, she couldn’t hold back a groan as she thought of how to start this letter. There would be only one chance to get this right, and the consequences were stark if discovered.

_ Dear Hastion, _ she wrote,  _ I hope this letter finds you well… _


	17. I-4.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hekion needs a hug from Dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, messed up posting order

It was to be expected, that his son was a handful of trouble. Well, more than a handful, these days. A good few years had passed since Avram could hold Hekion in his arms, the boy far too big and squirmy for such an affectionate endeavor to be entertained. Though the boy did his best, there was only so much he could do against the storm of his mind.

Avram knew that feeling well. It seemed as if his own teenage years had passed in a tidal wave of excitable passion. He spat flames against the monarchy as easily as he took lovers, threw himself from project to project with abandon. He should have been better supervised, that was what Evekyani had taught him, he should have been taught his place before he did something regrettable. Instead, he spent his youth bouncing from partner to partner, the poster boy of the Rezhen Revolt.

A soft laugh slipped past his lips as he strode through the spacious halls. His flats were silent against the smooth marble floor, expensive stone polished to a gleam. The whorls of the stone under his feet transfixed him, reminded him of his proper place. Who would have thought this would be his home, the ancestral core of the Seli’in dynasty?

Around him, servants dipped out of his path as he went. They, of all people, knew how much Nadja favored him— _ him­­­ _ , of all people _ ­— _ how eagerly she insisted that he be treated as if they were husband and wife instead of impregnator and impregnated. Her kindness truly knew no bounds. Steps punctuated by the jangling of his bracelets, he continued on.

The Rezhen Revolt dissolved after his capture; he knew that well enough. Nadja had been so generous to let him leaf through the acquisition logs of various camps, even communicate with a person by the moniker of “Briars”, someone unsettlingly knowledgeable about conditions within the camps. Maybe they were an ex-administrator, wracked with guilt over what they had done. That or a deprogramed Reiny, escaped from a member of the higher levels of command. Reinies could be quite useful; their owners so quickly forgot that they were still people, not pets that managed to scrape together enough Higherspeak to get their point across.

A glimpse of dark hair and frustrated footsteps called his attention back to the present.

“Hekion,” He called, not bothering with honorifics. It brought such a devastated look to his son’s face when he used honorifics with him, despite their status imbalance, “how are you?”

Flinching, Hekion turned to his father, pausing in the middle of their sitting room. “Fine, how are you?”

“I’m doing well as well.” Though hidden behind the veil, Avram smiled at him. “Please, let us sit and speak. It must have been days since we’ve had a proper talk, no?”

With a clumsy nod, Hekion sat down in the first chair he could find, an armchair cushioned in soft bronze and silver, the wood stained red with lacquer. Calm as the Great Lake, Avram took off his veil, primly folding it in his lap and adjusting his hair before beginning the conversation.

“Is something wrong?” His son beat him to it, eyes flicking around the paintings of landscapes Nadja so admired.

Avram tilted his head, back straight. “Why would you say that, dear? Am I not allowed to speak with you for the sake of speaking with you?”

Hekion’s frown only deepened. Creator and Destroyer, he was so broody these days. With his long hair done up in an artfully careless style, and makeup done gaudily to emphasize and shadow the rims of his eyes, he resembled the poets of yore festooned in their black cloaks and heavy boots.

Grumbling, he let his gaze drop from his father’s. “We never talk much anymore, I thought I might have done something to displease you.”

“Just something to concern me.” Avram’s fingers laced together, resting on one knee. “I noticed you haven’t been spending much time in your own bed these nights, and I was wondering if there was some notice I missed. I understand that you are an adult, and I appreciate that you are more than capable of making your own choices, but I do want to know what exactly those choices  _ are _ . I care about you, and your mother does too. All we want is to know that you’re safe.”

“Is this an intervention?” Though he didn’t mean it, Hekion snapped his words out.

His face blanched as he realized it, frown only deepening. Dropping his eyes to the floor, his shoulders hunched up, the picture of pitiful. “I’m sorry.”

Gaze soft, Avram leaned forwards to brush his knuckles against his son’s. “I will attribute it to stress and hormones, do not worry. We have all been caught up in the moment, so it would be unfair to fault you.”

“No, that’s…” He bit the inside of his cheek hard, enough that Avram could smell the salty tang of blood. “That’s not it. I—it was out of line.  _ I _ was out of line.”

“Hekion—”

The boy kept barreling on, the words spilling out of him like a flood. “I haven’t been a good son recently, and I haven’t been a good family member, and I’m sorry. I know Mom hates it when I get like this, and I know she’s worried, but I’ve been blowing her off because… because…” Tears pricked in his eyes, fingers gripping the armrests tight. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” Avram did his best to soothe him, covering his hand with his. “Life is a learning process, and Nadja isn’t cross with you, just concerned.”

A wet sniff sounded, Hekion letting his head hang in shame. “Da, I did something wrong. I did something very wrong, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Well, we’re on your side, sweetheart. We’re here to help.” His placations did nothing to calm his son. If anything, it only drew more shame into his form.

“You’re going to be disappointed in me, very disappointed. I… I knew better, but I still…”

With a fond, quiet sigh, Avram patted the seat on the couch next to him. Wordlessly, his son rushed forward to sit beside him, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his shoulder. Little sniffles and sobs dripped out of Hekion’s mouth as he cried, breath hitching as his father rocked them gently, patting his son’s back soothingly.

It had been a long time indeed since he needed his father like this, to help calm him down and be a shoulder to cry on. Before, Avram would have taken him into his lap, holding the boy to his chest as he hummed lullabies from home, rubbing his back as he got all his tears out. Back then, Hekion cried about a scrape on his knee or a rejection or a poor grade on a test, until his teenage years pulled him away, urging him to set aside his family in favor of friends and acceptance, as they always did.

Slowly but surely, his sobs subsided into hiccups and Hekion was left, face still in his father’s shoulder, gripping onto him so tight Avram feared his ribs would crack from the force. His son hadn’t fit in his lap in quite a long time, grown into a strong young man a good deal taller and sturdier than the orc who helped make him. Even still, it wasn’t hard to remember when he was a little boy, sniffling into his father’s shirt the very same way he did now.

“Is that any better?” Avram asked, low and gentle, hands still making their calming strokes up and down his son’s back.

With a slight nod, Hekion pressed closer, breath hitching, though no more tears came. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Pressing a kiss to the top of Hekion’s head, Avram gave him a squeeze. “It’s healthy to cry. You never need to be stoic around me, you know that.”

He shook his head, turning to rest his cheek against Avram’s now-damp clothing. “I don’t know how to fix what I did. I’m going to drag this family into ruin, and no matter how sorry I am, it won’t help.”

All Avram could do was hum and pet his son’s hair, waiting for him to proffer up more information instead of stare into the fire. “I would say it isn’t too bad, so long as no one was truly hurt. If it’s a matter of money, though, your mother is the one to speak with about that.”

“I don’t think she can help me.” He shrunk down, dread drifting into his demeanor. “And I think someone’s going to be hurt when I come clean about things.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the issue.” Came Avram’s gentle reminder.

Pursing his lips, Hekion picked through his words carefully. “Um… it’s about my night friend.” At his pause, his father hummed in understanding. “A-are you familiar with Theolin Kadrios?”

Every thought in Avram’s head ground to an instant halt. It was all he could do to keep up that steady stroking, respond with a calm noise of agreement as his eyes unfocused, praying for some semblance of meaning to make its way out of the red wallpaper of the sitting room. There would be no absolution for Avram there, no holy declaration sent forth to him in the well-kept walls and fireplace.

Swallowing, Hekion kept speaking, confessions tumbling past his lips. “I started an affair with him a year ago to blackmail him and his family. I—I don’t know why. I think I wanted to prove myself to Mom, to show her that I wasn’t a dead weight that she kept sticking out her neck for with nothing to show for himself. I was going to come out with the information and ruin his image in court and in public, but Queen Malaidor…”

“Was not what anyone expected.” Avram finished for him, words coming as if at the bottom of a pool.

A nod and a hum marked Hekion’s agreement. “She moved on reform far faster than I thought, and… I ran out of time for it to be damaging. I never told him, though, and I haven’t found a good way to break it off. I  _ can’t _ now, not unless I want to be the subject of his heartbreak for years to come.”

His voice broke at that, as if the very thought caused him pain. Ah. So, this was the issue. Avram may not have been anyone’s go-to for court politics, but he knew young love when he saw it. Well, young hate that had turned into an uneasy love, squashed down in favor of the current state of things. Feelings were hard to come by, acceptable ones even more so.

“I see.” Avram said, unperturbed.

“He thinks he loves me.” Hekion continued, a watery quality edging into his words. “I… I don’t know how I feel. When I started, I hated him—I hated him so much—but he’s been…” Hesitating, he strained to find the phrasing. “He’s been kind. Very kind. He doesn’t seem to care who I am or what my breeding is, he just likes me for who I am, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Taking a deep breath, Avram collected his thoughts. “Why? Why bother with all this?”

The boy’s shoulders drifted up, fingers knotted up in his father’s robes. “I didn’t want to be a burden on Mom anymore. She wastes so much time trying to keep me safe, and I wanted to let her know I could take care of myself.”

“She  _ spends _ time on you because she  _ loves _ you.” It came out harsher than he intended, but it was a lesson his son should have known by now. “She worries about you because she cares. This—throwing yourself into a situation you couldn’t dream of fixing yourself—this is her worst nightmare. She spends her nights dreaming of the day you come to her with your pending execution hovering over your head.”

Hekion let out a little whimper, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. “I just… I just wanted her to know I was capable. I know how to handle myself.”

“Evidently, you do not.” Cutting back the frustration rising in his voice, Avram steadied himself, let himself calm down enough not to scare his son. “It seems like we’ll be bothering her today. This is not optional, Hekion. You’ve tangled yourself up in quite the mess, and there is little either of us can do to save you from your own decisions. The most Nadja can really  _ do _ is speak with Graeus and prepare him for the blowback.”

“The blowback?”

He couldn’t help the coolness of his gaze as he met his son’s eyes. “Did you think Nadja was going to speak with Lord Theolin and make the entire issue disappear into thin air? No. You  _ will _ confess to him, and there  _ will _ be fallout. The best she can do is minimize the damage it causes. Your saving grace is Lord Graeus, so I urge you to send him a gift basket when this is all said and done. A kind letter wouldn’t hurt, either.”

Hekion paled at the thought. “Lord Graeus hates us both.”

Where this boy got these foolish ideas from, Avram would never know.

“Lord Graeus is a perfectly fine man. He babysat you as a young child numerous times, and has never once been rude to me, both in public and in private. Though, at this moment, he might not harbor much love for you.” With a sigh, he kissed the top of his son’s head. “Come on, now. Let’s go make your mother’s life harder.”

“She’s going to kill me.” Hekion groaned, rubbing at his red eyes.

“Of course she is.” A note of wry humor wormed its way into Avram’s tone. “And then, she’s going to bring you back from the great beyond just to scold you, debate whether or not she can still send you to your room, and end up crying on my shoulder as well and insisting that she was too harsh.”

Confused eyes peered up at him. “She—”

“Doesn’t want to be visibly distraught in front of you, which I would say is rather honorable. She may have her flaws, but she does her best to be a good mother.”

“I know that.” He frowned, heaving a deep sigh. “I know. I don’t say that often enough, do I?”

“No, you don’t. Now come, you have a stern talking-to to receive, and I have an upset Elven noble to comfort. Please know that this isn’t from a place of malice, but I will not keep secrets from your mother.”

Hekion only dipped his head lower. “I know. I… I’m sorry. I just wanted to be useful.”

With a fond sigh, Avram pulled his son from his chest, holding his face so their eyes were level. “Then know that there is no  _ need _ for you to be useful. Your mother loves you, as do I. I cannot think of a reason—barring something extreme, such as killing one of us in cold blood—that either of us would have you leave this house.”

Utter astonishment flooded the boy’s expression. “Why would I kill you?”

“Just an example, though perhaps a tasteless one.” Avram patted his cheek. “Don’t stall, you know your mother would rather get serious conversations over and done with sooner rather than later.”

Though he shrank down, thoroughly mollified, Hekion still nodded, rising from his seat without a word and drying his eyes. He looked pitiful like this, his normally smooth, pale green face blotchy from crying and his glinting silver gaze rimmed with red. His teeth nibbled at his lip, a habit only worsened by his insistence at grinding his tusks down completely. It made him seem that much younger, nothing hinting at his maturity. Most orcs left the stubs of their tusks visible, a marker to other orcs of their age; Avram himself was entertaining letting them grow out, a testament to the Elven Queen’s temperance.

Not Hekion, though. No, he leapt for his Elven half with abandon, doing whatever he could to hint at an infinitesimally higher concentration of Elven blood. Under his ministrations, he had chopped off most of his hair, thinned and finagled the rest to resemble the long, flowing locks of elves, rather than the thick, soft styles of orcs. His makeup highlighted the pallor of his eyes, the white of his sclera. There had even been a point in time where he had gone and dyed his hair blonde, eyebrows and all. With any luck, though, there wouldn’t be a repeat of his teenage years.

“Hekion.” Avram started, standing and smoothing his clothing down. “I love you, you know that, yes?”

Forgoing words, his son just nodded miserably, embarrassed and thoroughly corrected.

“No matter what you do, I’ll still love you. Your mother will, too. Just tell us what’s going on next time, do you hear? Don’t let it get this out of hand.”

More nods, and, as they started the short walk to Nadja’s office, Hekion’s fingers found Avram’s sleeve, his shoulder bumping against his father’s. His breaths had evened out somewhat, bolstered by the reminder that his mother—while cross—would still accept him and rectify the solution when all was said and done. Thank the Creator Avram had taken pains to get all the alcohol out of the house, though. Nadja breaking her sober streak for this would not be… ideal… for any of them. The Creator only knew how tempting the drink would pose for her. Dinner was going to be unfathomably awkward.

At least, that was Avram’s thought when he knocked, opening the door to Nadja’s study before freezing in his tracks. Right. Meetings.

Two pairs of Elven eyes turned to greet him as he sank into a polite kneel, Hekion bowing nervously beside him. It would have been nice to know when exactly Nadja was hosting Lord Graeus today, it would have been very nice.

She smiled at them both, turning her attention to her son. “Ah, speak of gods and one will appear! Such fortunate timing. Hekion, Lord Graeus here has been telling me such interesting things about his son and you! I would love to hear about it in just a moment, when we finish this meeting.” To the other lord, she gave a secretive grin. “I won’t spoil the surprise, so don’t you worry. And do give my regards to Theolin, he’s grown into a lovely young man. I’m sure his next birthday fete will be a day to remember!”

Lord Graeus laughed at that, a mirthless sound to Avram’s ears. “I will, thank you. It has been a pleasure, and I’ll be sure to get that paperwork to you posthaste. Will I see you at the crown’s party next week?”

“Of course—you’ll see Avram too. Dear, you may get up, you have just as much a right to live in this house as I do.”

With slow, graceful motions, Avram got to his feet, head politely inclined, hiding his face as best he could in lieu of his veil. Of course this would happen the instant he felt comfortable enough to remove it. He was fortunate that Nadja’s kindness spoiled him so. There would be little, if any, repercussions to his error.

“Thank you, my Lord.” His voice was smooth and sonorous. “It is an honor to be able to attend such a momentous occasion.”

Lord Graeus hummed at that, a low, rumbling thing. “You look well, Sair Avram. How has the old songbird been?”

A pang of irritation ran through Avram. Lord Graeus always did this, addressed him by the improper title to try and get a rise out of Nadja. Maybe he thought she took any spare aggression out on him when he left. Maybe he thought he was being clever, being kind to Avram in order to buy his loyalty. Hah. As if anyone could turn him against his mistress.

“Lord Nadja has been quite generous to me.” Was what he said instead. “Though I fear I continue to distract from her work.”

He let out a chuckle, though the emotion in it was stilted and twisted. “She could use a distraction, couldn’t she? Best of luck with that bruise on your eye, it’s quite a shiner. I’ll let you to your day.”

Calmly, as if he had all the time in the world, Lord Graeus packed up his things and exchanged goodbyes with Nadja, patting Hekion on the shoulder and dipping his head to Avram as he left. The instant the door closed, Nadja let out a groan and dropped her forehead to the desk with a resounding thud.

“Hekion. Sit.” Her index finger stabbed in the general direction of the chair. “Explain,  _ now _ .”

Fuck.


	18. 1-13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastion and Galengar spend some alone time together :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late, there was a blackout and i've had a shit week. the chapter's 9k, if its any consolation. as always, comments and kudos are welcome

Hastion spent an odd amount of time in the royal family’s chambers, nowadays. Instead of waiting outside while they got ready in the morning—a pattern upheld for the entire time he had been in their service, he was now ushered in by an improperly dressed hand, either of them greeting him at the door in rumpled sleepwear and mussed up hair. He didn’t even knock, thought that hadn’t been a requirement before. The two of them knew with unerring precision when he arrived.

They would tug him inside, instruct him to take off his boots, and sit him down somewhere as they got dressed, an ordeal that took the brunt of an hour. The royal family needed to look presentable, even if that meant the closet looked like a warzone after they were don, styling outfits based on who they would be meeting with that day. In the queen’s own words, a dress could make or break a deal.

Most days, they didn’t care much for the stylists, though, electing to do their hair themselves. Watching the king run a brush through his hair and work it into something presentable was almost as unseemly as seeing the queen plait platinum hair into perfect braids, pinning them back into a simple bun and adding a hairpiece made of gold and sapphires to her ensemble.

This morning was no different, of course. Hastion’s lap had been adorned with a dress and two shirts, free space to utilize. Not that he minded; serving his king and queen—especially now, with his tentative dalliance with his king—had been a pleasure so far. Remarkably few things were expected of him, fewer still things that he couldn’t simply ask for clarification on. The royal family were candid and frank people, however much that came as a shock to the rest of the nobility.

“Gal, you know a storm is coming tonight, right?” Though the queen’s words weren’t directed at him, Hastion still glanced up at her.

Resisting the urge to furrow his brow, he couldn’t help but notice how her face had set in an odd expression. Unlike her usual unshakeable calm, a note of consternation entered her features. Tight lines around her eyes marked out her worry as her husband finished straightening his hair, a frown overtaking what had been a relaxed, amicable demeanor.

Her husband sent a meaningful look at her through the mirror, signing with one hand as the other adjusted his collar. ‘I know. I have it handled.’

“I’m just reminding you,” she continued. “Has Doctor Lend responded to your inquiry about—”

Galengar cut her off with a frustrated exhale, gaze flickering between Hastion and her. Realization bloomed across Queen Malaidor’s features as she quieted, mouth turning down into a slight frown. Evidently, whatever they had communicated through those little glances failed to satisfy her.

Shaking her head, she laced up her boots, hidden under petticoats. “You can’t dance around it like this.”

‘I’m not dancing, I’m pulling on my fancy shoes.’ Came his reply, said in an overly haughty tone.

Queen Malaidor suppressed a laugh at the proffered joke. “There’s going to be an issue when…”

Again, she trailed off, strategically not looking at Hastion. He was the odd one out, it seemed. Here the two of them were, sparring at each other with palpable fondness, and all Hastion could do was sit there, a sentient, sapient coatrack that was most certainly not allowed to leave until he was dismissed by either of them. Why hadn’t they? Had they simply forgotten that they wielded that power? Was he meant to figure out just how unwanted he was?

Clearing his throat, Hastion did his best not to wilt as their attentions suddenly turned to him. “If my Lords would like, I would be more than happy to wait in the common room. I would not feel offended that you would wish to have a private conversation.”

‘Don’t call us “Lords”.’ Was the immediate reply, echoed verbally from his queen. ‘And it’s fine. We can just talk about something else. Hastion—what are you looking forward to doing today? Is there anything exciting on the docket?’

Though he floundered at the sudden change in topic, Hastion found the words to reply. “I am conducting the start of the final interviews for the autumnal ball this afternoon, so that should be something to talk about later.”

“Oh?” Queen Malaidor piped up, fixing her skirts. “If only it would get to be autumn now, rather than after the ball.”

“With any luck, it will usher in the cool weather, Sir.” As she opened her mouth, he took the risk to continue. “If I am on the job, I would prefer to refer to you with respect, Sir. It is not because I see myself as inferior to you—” little white lies, “but because I harbor a great respect for you—for the both of you.”

That got him a pair of odd looks. King Galengar’s hand dropped from his hair to hang awkwardly, forgotten. Queen Malaidor stared at him, as if mulling over possible responses and thoughts in her head. It really wasn’t all that shocking that he felt that way about them, Hastion didn’t understand why they were so shocked. The royal family was to be admired, and this administration had shown him nothing but hard work and determination.

King Galengar was the first to find his metaphorical voice. ‘Er, thank you.’

“It is to be expected.” A little disbelieving laugh slipped past his lips. “Both of you are quite honorable for the work you do. Of course I would consider both of you to be capable. I have not seen anything to dissuade me of that and, after nearly thirteen months with the palace, I hope I will not.”

As if in a daze, Queen Malaidor finished getting dressed, that confused expression remaining. Shaking her head to clear it, she gave him one last hard look before giving herself a once over in the mirror.

“I have… I have a meeting to get to. Hastion, we’ll be seeing you tonight, won’t we?” Her voice was confident and unperturbed, letting loose no jarring details about her mental state.

He had to blink at that. “Er, if that is what you desire, then yes, you will see me tonight.”

A quick look at King Galengar showed the man giving his wife a nigh imperceptible shrug and nodding to Hastion. ‘We’ll be watching a kino in here a few hours after sunset, Mor’s choice. You can wear pajamas, if you’d like to sleep over, I don’t think either of us would mind.’

“Of course, thank you, Sirs, for the invitation. I shall endeavor arrive on time.” Resisting the urge to blush, Hastion tried to force thoughts of _other_ things they likely wouldn’t mind out of his head.

No one needed to know where his mind wandered and, if his body betrayed him, they almost certainly wouldn’t be keen on welcoming him back for another night. Creator, here he was, acting like a fool in front of the two most powerful people in the country, and all he could do was think about how gentle Galengar’s fingers had been when they held his chin or how light Queen Malaidor’s touch must be. They would likely be gentle with him—either overly gentle or overly rough, and he didn’t know which excited him more. It would be an honor to service them, if they let him.

And why would they. Reality came crashing down around him at the same time he heard himself repling to some inane small talk. Why would they want something as damaged as him? With all his experience came the very _issue_ of his experience. He was good at what he did, but that quality was tied with the drawback of implications. It wouldn’t be the first time someone mistook him for a Reikyani graduate.

“—but I’m not sure how long that will take, so you two are more than welcome to call for snacks without me.” Queen Malaidor was saying, the king nodding along as they put the finishing touches on their outfits, already putting stray things away.

Oddballs, the two of them, insisting on cleaning up after themselves when they had servants to do that for them. Well, who was Hastion to stop them?

“Of course, Sir. Is there anything you would like, should you arrive late?” He rose, dipping his head politely.

Her eyes flicked over him, an examination lasting less than a second. “Gal knows my usual, I don’t expect anything fancy. I can have the film and projector brought here, it’s no issue at all. Gal, you can work in my common room if you’d like, I remember you were complaining about how boring it was in your room all day.” As he raised his hands in good-natured dismay, she continued on, “And, considering you’re so against working in the parlors, library, or gardens, you can borrow my chambers.”

‘Too many people speak to me when I work outside.’ King Galengar’s signs could have been described as a whine, had Hastion less faith in his ruler. ‘I spend all my time in conversation rather than actually getting things done.’

Tilting his head, Hastion straightened himself out as the royals migrated to the common room, ready to split for the day.

“I could assist with that,” he volunteered. “Most wouldn’t question me if I asserted that you were too busy for conversation. Fewer still would try and get past me to interact with you. In those cases, those people could be removed, and your peace could continue. I wouldn’t mind the tedium.” He also wouldn’t mind the change of scenery. The same room, day after day, was almost as bad as the same hallway.

King Galengar blinked at that, face brightening like the sun through clouds. ‘That… wouldn’t be too bad an idea. Unfortunate that I don’t have you today to run that experiment.’ His mouth split into a wide, cheery grin. ‘I’ll be stuck here for now, it seems, but that isn’t too unreasonable an idea, thank you.’

Ears heating up in a faint blush, Hastion kept his gaze down with the hopes his charge wouldn’t notice the way his guard’s emotions ran rampant through him.

“As much as I hate to break you two lovebirds up, I do have to get going.” Humor rang clear in Queen Malaidor’s voice. “And you aren’t allowed to complain about the kino I choose.”

The king let out a breathy chuckle, smile only widening. ‘Have fun in your meetings. Do give my regards to Ambassador Lehiss for me—and be sure you sort out the issue of seating for the masquerade ball. Lord Theolin decided to stop me in the hallway last afternoon with a concern that a fight might break out if the Seli’ins and the Kadrioses were seated as near to each other as they are normally. Something about depending on how this weekend goes.’

“They’re adults, they can behave for a night.” She quipped.

Her hand reached out, almost hesitantly, to brush a stray lock of hair out of his face. Motions reverential, her fingers just barely ghosted over her husband’s skin, the gesture far too intimate for Hastion to intrude on. The king hardly seemed to notice, simply beaming at her and continuing on with suggestions on seating the petty nobles. His wife didn’t hear a word of it, though her gaze drifted down from his face to his hands and back again.

A gulf remained between them, insurmountable. It pained her, Hastion couldn’t help but realize. Watching her husband—the man she had wed, she shared a bed with, she ruled with—a splinter of loneliness stung her eyes. This was… it felt indecent for him to watch such a naked, uncharacteristic display of emotion from his queen, even if they had invited him in and bid him stay.

Soon enough, though, she was nodding and excusing herself, forgoing a farewell kiss. Hastion got a kind look and a ‘good-bye’ himself, and she was off, instructing her escort on what was to be done as the door closed behind her. King Galengar’s expression was fond, only serving to confirm his suspicions.

“I fear I must be leaving as well, Sir.” In light of the royal couple’s recent interaction, it would be quite untoward for him to remain. “I really must complete some reports today before I’m scheduled to finish the interviews of the noble spouses, otherwise, they would be delayed.”

His king’s gaze turned… almost pitying. No, that wasn’t the proper word to describe it. He surveyed his guard with a complex emotion glinting in his eyes, equal parts saddened and amused, a neatly suppressed hunger lurking in those grey shadows. It made Hastion shiver, the weight of such a powerful man, studying him like a gift. Tamping down the urge to volunteer his skill was all he could do. Professionalism was key, even when his charge made his blood rush hotter in his veins, his heart pump faster in his chest.

Taking a step forward, King Galengar let a bemused smile cross his face. ‘Or, and hear me out now, we do something distracting and pretend to work. No one would be any the wiser.’

Hastion flushed as his body ran through possible interpretations. “I would hate to put more tasks on your plate, Sir.”

‘I don’t mind, so long as they’re enjoyable.’ His hands wandered down as he closed the distance between them, the inches separating their faces charged.

“Your clothing…” It was a weak excuse.

His king grinned up at him. ‘We can avoid doing _that_ , then. I wouldn’t be opposed to other things, if it sounds amenable to you.’

Other things. Right. Dating. Courting. Doing things with his king.

Thoughts moving through molasses, Hastion nodded his consent, dazed. He must have looked like such a mess, eyes blown wide just from their proximity and his cheeks stained a pretty pink at insinuations.

And then, his world was soft lips and gentle touches as his king—his partner—drew him further out of his shell. Groaning into the contact, Hastion brought his hands to cup his cheeks, pressing into him as if the man would dissipate into smoke if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Who knew, maybe he would. Maybe his king would vanish in a puff, never to be seen again if Hastion didn’t gladly oblige him.

Whoever opened their mouth first, he didn’t know, but clever fingers had unbuttoned his jacket enough to run across his chest, trailing sparks where they landed. This was it, this was bliss. Walking backwards, Hastion let Galengar lead him to wherever he wanted, falling when the backs of his knees hit the soft bed in the other room. Untucking his guard’s shirt to trace his fingers along his skin, the king played his hands across Hastion’s pectorals, exploring the hard planes of muscle and drawing teasing circles on sensitive skin.

A choked off noise left Hastion’s mouth, swallowed by his partner without a second thought. Galengar laughed at that, his shoulders silently shaking, his smile tamped down. Breaking the kiss, Hastion held his king’s wrist still when those wonderful, gorgeous, perfect hands strayed to his belt.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Sir.”

Unperturbed by the rejection, Galengar nodded. ‘Then what about a nap? Something short, of course, but nothing sexual. We can each undress to our liking and settle in, kiss and fondle a bit, but then rest. An hour, maximum. Our clothes won’t get dirty, and I can dress quickly if need be.’

With a sigh, Hastion bit his lip. “An hour, but after that, you and I both have work to do.”

His king grinned at him, shrugging out of his shirt and boots, kicking off his pants. His undershirt went too, followed by his stays. Hastion averted his eyes, pulling off his own shoes, shirt, and pants to fold them neatly on a chair before easing into bed. Joining him, Galengar sidled up to his side, grey eyes flicking across his naked chest. Deft fingers resumed his initial ministrations, mouth wandering to press kisses into his neck.

Ignoring his body’s tantalizing whispers to take this beautiful man right there and then, Hastion feathered his hand down the king’s bare side, fighting off intrusive thoughts on how coarse his skin must have been, calloused from weapons work. He felt muscles tense and relax as a shiver ran down Galengar’s spine, and the man covered Hastion’s hand with his own, moving it to his chest.

Oh. _Oh._

He blushed as the two continued, touches slowly growing sluggish and sleepy, kisses less passionate, but retaining all of their initial fondness. Before long, Hastion’s mind was fuzzy and his body relaxed, not even bothering to sustain an erection. With his king here, half naked in his arms, he couldn’t name a better place to be, a more ideal world.

The next thing he heard was the tolling of the clocktower bell. Two in the afternoon, unless he miscounted. Four hours later. Shit.

With a curse, Hastion sat up, dislodging his partner. Quizzical eyes turned to him, and Hastion explained as he pulled on his shirt.

“I’m late; I have to sit for the interviews.”

‘Shit.’ Came his king’s response. ‘I missed a meeting.’

Hastion couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. “Was it important?”

Wincing, Galengar shrugged. ‘A bit. Graeus wanted to go over the economic policy plan and voice his complaints, but I would always say I got distracted with work. I’ll draft a letter and pray Mor doesn’t kill me.’

His laugh, a squeaky thing that was more air than anything, brought a smile to Hastion’s face. “He has to forgive you.”

Galengar rolled his eye at that, opting to lean back and watch Hastion dress in lieu of signing. A proper king, to be given a proper show. Blushing, Hastion did the best backwards strip show he could as put on his pants and did up his belt, tucking his shirt in and shrugging on his jacket. The shoes would come later. For now, making little adjustments in the mirror was his best bet as he buttoned up his outer layer, hands sure on the gleaming brass.

His hair, though, was another matter. Without thinking, he wandered into the bathroom to grab a hairbrush, running it through his dark locks in a vain attempt to set them in order. He only realized his grave error when he put the brush down, finding, to his horror, unseemly black hair mixed with royal platinum.

What was _wrong_ with him? He borrowed a _hairbrush_ from the king and queen without even asking beforehand. He must have been lowered in his king’s eyes, a fool so bold and brash that he would commit such inappropriate things without a second thought.

Apologies were already out of his mouth as he sank to the ground, bowing to his king.

For his part, Galengar sat up, the blanket falling to reveal his chest. As much as he wanted to look away, to preserve his king’s modestly, Hastion forced himself to wait in this awkward position, face tipped up to watch his king’s signs.

‘It’s alright,’ he soothed to a man undeserving of such grace, ‘it’s only a hairbrush. Mine, too, for that matter. I’m not angry, so please get up.’

Shame laced Hastion’s motions as he rose, head still dipped down. Through some miracle, his lord spared him, opting to cup his cheek with a soft, gentle hand rather than strike out. How he had gotten this lucky, he didn’t know. Those fingers guided him down, warm lips pressing against his in a chaste kiss, clearly meant to be reassuring.

As he straightened up, he couldn’t help the emotions swirling about inside him, but he gave the king a smile. “Right, just a hairbrush. Thank you.”

‘Of course.’ Letting his hand fall to his lap, King Galengar rolled his shoulders, frowning at the tension he no doubt found there. Hastion would have to fix that, soon. ‘Now, why don’t you go do your interviews so I can spend the next five hours writing letters and sorting through reports. I’d rather not have too much backlog for tomorrow.’

His cue to leave. “Yes, Sir. I look forward to seeing you tonight.”

A dark expression flickered across his king’s face, there for less than a second, before being replaced with serenity. ‘As do I.’

With that, Hastion pulled on his boots and left, confident in his skills to put his mask back together after something so compromising. No one would suspect anything more than general scruffiness, typical of a man meant to be on his feet all day, intimidating and taking down would-be evildoers. Not that there were many in the palace to take down.

Thoughts muddled as he turned the interaction with his king over and over in his mind, he arrived at his destination quickly, inclining his head politely at the ambassadors, dignitaries, and nobles he passed. No need to use the servants’ entrance; he was a prominent figure in the administration. Most knew his name, if not his face. Fewer, though, had taken pains to actually speak to him. It was clear enough in the way the petty nobles grinned at him, all saccharine and sweet, while the ambassadors regarded him with distrust, remembering his predecessor’s policies. Slowly but surely, he was shaking that inheritance.

Perhaps the royal family could help him in that department? Maybe something like meeting kids excited about government from some of the local schools or a strategic photoshoot. He would have to float that by Queen Malaidor tonight, if she had the time for it. Her experience in this field was quite the blessing.

Stepping into the interview room, Hastion could have sworn that the petty nobles’ anxiety was a tangible thing. They fidgeted in their seats, eyes on him as he strode into the interview room, checking in with the assistant allocated to him.

She was a small woman, Humanish by breeding, if her veil was anything to go by. To appease her Elven colleagues, she had donned the royal colors, robes trimmed with pale yellow to contrast the rich dark blue of her cloak. Her gloves belied strong, slender hands, though most of her form was hidden under folds of fabric.

“Good afternoon, Sair Beli.” With a smile, he beckoned her into the room, closing the door behind them.

Her voice was soft, though confident. “I hope it will be, Captain Erro’ar, though only time will tell. May I ask how your day has been, or shall we get right to work.”

He couldn’t help brightening at that, letting out a quiet chuckle. Working with Beli was quite the treat. The woman was effective and efficient, to say the least. She knew things needed to be done and was perfectly aware of how the palace would come to her aid should a noble think themselves better than her. Most would be surprised to see her lower herself enough to act like a receptionist, a far cry from her usual work as taskmaster of the maids.

Everyone needed a break now and again, though, and playing secretary once a month with someone that was always happy to see her found itself welcomed. Power could be grating, especially when faced with nobles complaining about their attendants not knowing specific personal preferences, and Beli clearly enjoyed the time away from the complaints.

Taking a look around, Hastion got his bearings. It seemed like these rooms changed format with each interview. A one-way mirror had been installed in the wall, made up to be a series of smaller, gold-framed mirrors, hung on pale, flowery wallpaper. It disquieted him, how easily the architects had hidden the window into this room, how nothing looked out of place. The floor—previously a cool grey tile—had transformed into hardwood and locally-made carpets, all centered around a medium-sized wooden table in the heart of the room, flanked by two plush chairs.

They had gone to great pains to make it look comforting in here, or, at the very least, comforting enough that people let down their guard. Getting information out of people keen on deceiving him was far from easy, but very satisfying. It was a game, though a bit higher stakes than the ones he’d played as a child.

“My day has been fine, thank you for asking.” He sat in one of the chairs, gesturing for Beli to do the same. “Will you be watching in the darkroom today?”

Obliging him, she folded her hands in her lap, spine perfectly straight. “Yes, I will, Captain. Have you been briefed on who you will be seeing yet?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. Not much has come in regarding this, aside from the restriction that, with the volume of people in today, I will have to limit myself to five minutes per person.” A pause. “That isn’t a lot of time, you know.”

She waved his worry aside. “Nearly all of these people have been vetted. You will be interacting with the partners the nobles want to bring. This batch specifically belongs to the outer relations of the Kadrios and Seli’in dynasties, so there isn’t much reason to for an interview to last longer than your allotted time.” Producing a thick folder from the folds of her robe, she slid it over the table to him. “All of them have had background checks and their identities confirmed. In addition, many of the nobles have also handed over information to speed the process along. There is a symbol atop each submission as to whether or not it has been verified.”

It always took him by surprise how fast Beli worked. She reigned in information, and she capitalized on it. People hardly ever dared lie to her, especially with how quickly she uncovered the deception. In truth, Hastion could only suspect it was her patron at work, arcana thrumming through her veins, whispering people’s secrets into her ears.

He wasn’t supposed to voice that thought, of course, wasn’t even supposed to bring up that she was patroned, but the suspicion lingered. Her file had been vague about her abilities, simply mentioning her patron’s name and that she possessed a limited capacity for precognition and uncovering things people wished to keep hidden. It made her useful in a managerial position, though. Few could argue that she ruled her roost unfairly, what with her taking pains to ensure those putting in extra work went home rewarded.

But when that sharp gaze turned to him, he couldn’t help but feel studied, pinned down to an examination table and scrutinized. Even behind the veil, he remembered the image of her face, clipped to her personnel file.

Pale white pupil-less eyes dared the viewer to take a step closer, to see what she could really do. Her ears were that of a dwarf’s, complete with fuzzy fur to match her pale white locks, though the file informed its reader that she did not have a tail. One would expect Dwarven ancestry considering her short height. Dark lines rimmed her eyes, hinting at something more exotic out west, and her hair was as thick as an orc’s. Her teeth, though… her teeth had to be the oddest part of her.

They were sharp and jagged, like a shark taken the form of a humanoid. There had been an image in the file, taken from a side angle, that showed off row after row of spikes, all capable of rending flesh should Beli set her mind to it. They must have been an annoyance to brush in the mornings, all thing considered.

With everything covered up, she looked eerie. Hastion could never grasp why Humanish were encouraged to hide under veils and masks, their very faces seen as unlucky. It came from a far different place than Draconic veiling—something more religious in nature that emphasized protecting arcana and avoiding malevolent glances. While, in the Moonrakers, seeing a dragon’s face and hair was a commonplace concept, devout and areligious accepted one and the same, very few Humanish dared to go without the customary coverings, fearing retribution.

“Captain.” Her voice came louder, losing that artificial softness. Good. It was very good that she felt comfortable enough to act as peers. “You brought me here to speak, so listen to what I’m saying.”

Ducking his head in embarrassment, he nodded. “Yes, my apologies. I fear I’m a bit distracted today.”

“It happens to the best of us.” he could hear the smile in her voice, sly and amused. “I informed you that the first five candidates are ready. There will be thirty-five in total. I then described them to you and asked which you wanted to start with.”

“Ah, important things, then.”

Her response was dry, though cordial. “Quite important, yes.”

A wry smile found his lips. “Then why don’t you send one in at random. The surprise will keep me on my toes. I’ve been getting rusty, haven’t I?”

She chuckled at that, a low, cheery thing. It only made him grin more, even if the veil obscured the look she gave him. Shaking her head slightly, that mirth lingered in her voice. “I’ll do that, then. I look forward to seeing that rusty blade sharpen, Captain. Here’s hoping I don’t have to step in and save your ass.”

His bark of a laugh caught him unexpectedly at her curse. Letting out something that could have been a faint, humored exhale, she rose, straightening his uniform with fingers like feathers, righting imperceptible wrongs and neatening him up. Hastion had never been one to keep his uniforms clean, much to the satisfaction of his previous employers. Here, though, that didn’t bode well for speaking with nobility.

He could hear her snort behind the fabric as she leaned forward, brushing some dust off of his jacket. “Did you hear, by the by?”

“I don’t gossip, Beli; neither do you, for that matter.” Smile creeping up on him, he crossed his legs at the ankle.

“It’s juicy.” Came her retort as she strode behind his chair, pushing him in closer to the table. It always startled him just how strong she was, muscle hidden under loose clothing. “Lord Theolin requested Lord Hekion for his dance partner.”

Sputtering out syllables, Hastion tried to find the words.

“I know, right?” Beli sounded genuinely excited, hands on her hips. “I was right, after all.”

He shot a look of disbelief to where her eyes should have been. “I’ll believe it when I see it—and no, that doesn’t mean I’m up for a wager. You cheat, and that isn’t fair for anyone involved.”

With a huff, she made her way to the door. “I don’t cheat, you just don’t know people as well as you think you do.” A raised eyebrow from him prompted her to continue, sighing. “Give people a chance to surprise you, and they will. Just remember that in the coming weeks. I would rather not play prophet with you, but you need to relax before you end up in the infirmary from stress.”

“I’m not going to—” He started before cutting himself off. It was no use to argue with Beli. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You won’t.” A note of bittersweet melancholy lingered in her voice for a second before she opened the door, barking out the name of a noble.

Hastion could imagine the poor thing’s expression, flinching at her hoarse, sharp tone as they gathered their things. Not many had been able to get used to her presence and demeanor, eager to interact with someone more… traditional, rather than the Humanish woman who knew exactly where she stood in palace rankings. Sadly for them, there were few, if any, more traditional people to speak with, and so Beli’s top-dog ranking remained.

A young man entered the room, looking almost relieved to be face to face with a young-looking Elven official. With any luck, Hastion wouldn’t have to discuss anything serious, just ask a few questions off of a list, write down the answers, flag anything concerning, and the both of them could be on their merry ways.

“Why don’t we start. Orihon Kalderos, requested by Adeline Seli’in-Keliha yes?” The man nodded. “Wonderful. My name is Captain Erro’ar, and I will be interviewing you today. Let’s begin. What are your thoughts on the current Elven Queen, Malaidor Oridion?”

“Well, she’s a total bitch.” He responded without hesitation.

Wonderful. Just wonderful. Flagging his profile with a rejection, Hastion noted that he had not received a background check and grit his teeth in a smile. As he continued down the list, his energy waned with each response. No, Sair Kalderos would not be attending the fete. He would, similarly, not be attending the Queen’s masquerade ball, the traditional winter bash, or any palace even for the next ten months. All of his answers were the entirely incorrect ones, said with utter honestly.

Experience informed him that his mother or partner would be at his office soon enough, demanding to speak with him on rejecting their child or date. At least Queen Malaidor would back him up in his decisions. Complaints failed to sway her, especially when such complaints regarded threats made to her family. What in Sair Kalderos’s mind told him that it was a good idea to touch on how he fantasized about the _married_ queen? Why did he think Hastion would enjoy hearing about all manner of lewd fantasies, things he artfully did not describe in his report?

After a conversation far too long for comfort, Sair Kalderos was dismissed and the next person entered the room, and so his day went, over and over. An estimate of three hours for this had been foolish. He had forgotten just how much petty nobles loved to hear themselves talk, especially to a young Elven man with a friendly face.

Too many incriminated themselves, though few to the same extent as Sair Kalderos. Most could be rectified with a marker to have a more thorough background check—one that would take into account any… fantasies… they had about the royal family. Though not a crime, it would be a shame if an incident took place during the party. A good deal of the partygoers were _not_ fans of crown chasers, no matter who sat on the throne. People like that had a nasty habit of going for the next best thing.

The day passed in a blur, notes taken on forms and passed on to Beli. All the faces seemed to blend together, none of them sticking in his mind with any measure of tenacity. So many people in so little time did that. His water pitcher had been filled and refilled what felt like hundreds of times, though likely numbered in the single digits. At least he was hydrated.

As the last person left, Hastion held up a hand to stay Beli in the waiting room, scribbling down a response to a very interesting letter he had received the other night. It certainly wouldn’t do to keep Lord Seli’in waiting. It wasn’t yet important enough to bring up to the king and queen, just an inquiry on what days Hastion would be willing to take tea with her. An in, so to speak. Queen Malaidor would be quite pleased when he reported on her political rival’s domestic affairs, that and what was plaguing her mind.

Finishing the letter, he folded up the paper and tucked it into his interior jacket pocket, close to his heart. Beli took the cue to walk in, taking the last marked-up profiles from him with a nod. They exchanged small talk while Hastion stretched out his legs, back issuing a sharp complaint at his sudden movement. Well, nothing a little walking couldn’t fix. A little walking and—

“Shit.”

Beli turned her head at his muttered curse. “What, are you late for a date?”

With a noncommittal grunt of “maybe”, Hastion got himself in order, giving his farewells over his shoulder as he rushed through the halls. People got out of his way, his frustration palpable. Six hours of interviews, and here he was, running late for the royal family. He would be lucky if he only got a stern talking to. Knowing his fortunes, the king would bend him over his knee and enact his punishment without mercy. Hastion would beg and plead for him to stop and… and…

And he wouldn’t think too deeply on why a certain organ between his legs was suddenly paying such close attention to his circling thoughts. Destroyer, what was wrong with him, getting distracted with those sorts of things when the king likely wanted him to do his damn job better. He probably just wanted Hastion to get those reports in faster. How the queen must have felt about their new arrangement… that would plague his sleep for weeks.

Before long, though, he was in the royal wing. The staff nodded to him when they crossed paths, bustling on with their jobs. Hastion was too frazzled to greet the woman guarding the queen’s rooms while he saw himself in, opting not to worry about why her face seemed familiar. The queen went through guards like a petty noble’s wife went through fashion trends, despite how she tried to chat with them. A perennial complaint was her lack of affectation, though few spent enough time with her to notice that she was full of emotion, just unable to express it.

Huh. When had he started noticing that of all things? For most of his initial palace career, the queen had been an ominous force, lurking in the background of his mind, stony faced and harsh. It took him months to notice how her eyes glittered when she intended to smile, how a little furrow appeared between her brows when she grew cross. It had taken him longer to see her fond, to see her humoring her husband with affection clear in her gaze, listening to his rambles without complaint or correction. It was… adorable. Adorable and endearing.

Opening the door to her chambers, Hastion announced himself as he stripped out of his boots, lining them up neatly in the short foyer. King Galengar, as usual, said nothing as the guard put his jacket up on the coatrack, debating the merits of requesting some light painkillers from the attendants waiting close by for any request the pair might have. More and more, his head ached at the end of the day, as if longing for his amulet. He rubbed at his eyes as he crossed into the common room, following his nose to the smell of cut fruits and cheese.

“Did I miss dinner?” The question came to him easily, his mind too tired to object to such informality.

He saw a blurry Galengar nod, vision refocusing after a second. ‘I can order more, if you’d like.’

His signs were slow, hands stuck on words that should have come with ease. Frowning, Hastion approached, not thinking to ask for permission or answer his lord’s question. His probing fingers tilted King Galengar’s face up to the light, revealing blown pupils following his motions with a slight delay.

“Are you high?” He couldn’t help the inquiry, slipping out in a whisper.

Signs, too close for him to get a good look, were supplemented with a nod. A trickle of dread ran through his veins. This was the last thing he was prepared for, royalty intoxicated with something stronger than alcohol. Was he to report this? Did the king have a drug issue that he had managed to miss? Did the queen know?

King Galengar must have seen the horror edging into his face, because he sighed, leaning back. Steady hands patted the chaise next to him, and Hastion sat down numbly.

‘It’s a prescription. Hurricanes give me panic attacks.’ Calm as ever, his explanation did nothing to soothe Hastion. ‘It’s a benzodiazepine, but I don’t take it often. Most of the time, I just sleep through the storm, but I promised you a movie tonight.’

Mouth dry, Hastion chewed on the inside of his cheek, hard enough that blood leaked into his mouth, coppery and familiar.

“Of course, Sir.”

‘Oh, please relax.’ Smiling, he brushed a stray lock of hair from Hastion’s eyes, the guard barely suppressing a flinch.

Clients like this were always the most unpleasant experiences, dead set on his continued sobriety when they imbibed, never instructing him enough to take his mind off of the cravings. At least he couldn’t smell it, alcohol pads or lingering smoke, mouth salivating at the hope of sharing. They’d use him until they forgot why they bought him to begin with, pushing him off and rolling over, falling asleep without even so much as a tip. At least he could dip into their stash and—

No.

 _Creator,_ no.

He was _not_ going to break his sober streak and steal drugs from his king, no matter how much the man tempted him to do so. Surely, he was testing him. He wanted to know if Hastion could resist it, could tune out his body’s memories of blissful ignorance, floating in a haze throughout his days, a fog blanketing his actions. How anyone could survive Essren clear-headed, he didn’t know.

‘Hastion?’ The letters were traced into his skin, jerking him from memory.

Shaking his head slightly, he watched his king with owlish eyes. “My apologies, Sir. Could you please repeat that?”

‘I asked if you were alright.’ Concern lingered in Galengar’s expression. ‘You’re more spacey than usual today. Are you sick?’

“I’m perfectly alright, just tired and hungry.” And maybe a little sick, that or he just needed to sleep more than four hours a night. He tried for a smile as the king nodded, reaching for a notepad and pen. Gesturing for Hastion to continue, he held up the pad, its purpose clear. “Ah, whatever soup is on the pot today—”

Galengar mouthed something Hastion couldn’t make out but nodded for him to keep going.

“Some brisket, mashed potatoes, vegetables, some bread—I don’t care which, eggs and rice, if they have any left over, and whatever they made for dessert.”

‘Chocolate mousse.’ His king mouthed, or something like it, scribbling his order down on the paper without looking at his hand and signing with the other. ‘The chef made too much steak, if you’d like some. You do know that you’re allowed to have preferences.’

Hastion’s chuckle came out more nervous than nonchalant. “I can’t say I have many. Feel free to augment my order, if you’d like. I’m not the pickiest eater, so I usually have the excess they made in the kitchens.”

Frowning, Galengar wrote a few more things down, angling the paper away from Hastion with a sly smile, mouthing something else. All he could make out was ‘surprise’, though the gist of the message came across rather clearly. The man ripped the paper from the pad, setting it down on the coffee table and going to the front door to hand the menu off to the guard stationed there. Dinner in ten or so minutes, or however long it took to warm up and allocate him the proper servings.

In that time, Hastion let himself look around. The queen had elected to redecorate some, paintings shifting around the walls and mirrors hung in different places. Why someone would need so many reflections, Hastion would never know. She wasn’t a vain woman, but a peek inside her room would tell an entirely different story. A looking glass hung on every wall, artfully avoiding each other’s reflection in a complicated, still dance. He saw his face reflected and refracted back at him a dozen times. No one needed that many of him.

Below the coffee table—which had been piled with unopened bottles of wine and juice, along with a platter of fruits and cheeses—someone, likely either the queen herself or an attendant, had set up a projector, pointed at a white canvas hanging from the wall. The kino was already loaded in, just waiting to be played. He hadn’t even asked what they were watching, just acquiesced and showed up like he belonged. Intruding on the royal couple’s date night had to be the last thing he intended to do.

The storm battered the windows outside, the curtains tightly drawn against the lightning. It calmed him, the pattering rain, lulling his thoughts into slowing, winding away from his history. Benzodiazepines often lowered libido, his king wouldn’t ask him to do anything untoward, even as he distracted Hastion so wonderfully with his being, plucking a grape from the tray of snacks with deceptively strong fingers.

‘Malaidor should be here in a few minutes, but you’re welcome to rest, if you’d like. You look dead on your feet.’

He opened his mouth to protest before thinking better of it. “Interviewing the partners people intend to bring to a party isn’t the most thrilling thing to do for six hours.” His own chuckle interrupted him. “I suppose I just haven’t been sleeping well, my apologies. Would it be alright if I lie down? Only for a moment, until the food comes.”

Smiling, Galengar nudged him over with a gentle push. Hastion obliged him, settling on his side on the couch. As he sighed, body relinquishing its tension for the first time in what felt like years, he felt a hand lift his head, the soft fabric replaced with a warm lap. Before he could protest, those blessed, _blessed_ fingers were in his hair, tantalizing and soothing and arousing and calming all at once. His thoughts swam with conflicting emotions, whatever level of coherence he had thrown right out the window.

The king carded his fingers through Hastion’s hair, scratching at his scalp now and again to keep him in that dizzying, confusing bliss, moving with slow, languid strokes. He could feel his cheeks heating up but, in all honesty, he was too tired to care. Instead, he let his ears drift up, clear in his enjoyment. A quiet, pleased huff sounded from above him, hardly audible over the sound of Hastion’s own thoughts.

His body was too exhausted to mount an effort, and for that, he was thankful. Even with this kind of stimulation, getting hard wouldn’t be the ideal situation. Surely, his king expected more of him, expected his guard to have some level of decorum. He expected something like… He expected… He…

He expected him to nap, and nap he did, submitting to the drowsy darkness.

The door closing made him flinch into wakefulness, head butting up into some resistance. It took him a moment to get his bearings, the realization that he was not in his bed coming hot on the heels of worry.

A hushed, one-sided conversation had stopped around him, replaced with a woman cooing at him as a hand continued to run through his hair. Wanderer, it was hard to _think_ when someone decided to scratch behind his ears, temptingly close to the sensitive skin. He leaned into that touch, letting out a quiet, mumbled “please” as he was humored.

Slowly, the smell of food wafted to him, delicious and tempting. With a little shake of his head to clear it, he blushed at his actions. Pleading in little broken syllables into the king’s touch while his wife watched her husband pleasure him, this was… he was never going to live that down, even if he was permitted to. Most likely, she would have him sent to the dungeons or exiled, it was clear enough. For all he had garnered the king’s favor, it wouldn’t be enough to—

“Well, sleepyhead, good evening.” Her voice, threaded with a trace of fondness, broke through his thin veneer of composition. “Why don’t you eat while we start the kino? They always have so many credits in the beginning.”

“I’m sorry—” He started, before realizing he had far too many things to be sorry for to pick one. “I… I didn’t mean to delay, and I didn’t mean to…” to be so inappropriate with her husband? “To conduct myself so indecently. I will endeavor—”

She cut him off with a breath that could have been a chuckle, if he chose to interpret her cues generously. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You are very adorable, even when you’re drooling on Gal’s thigh.”

Sure enough, a small wet patch had formed on the king’s pant leg. Oh, Destroyer take him now. Please. Pretty please with cherries on top. His cheeks turned a red not unlike sunrise, ears flicking down close to his head. In the midst of his guard’s embarrassment, King Galengar snorted, shoulders bouncing with laughter.

‘Just eat; there’s no need to apologize for existing.’ He grinned at him, wiping the corner of Hastion’s mouth with a napkin. ‘If I had an issue with it, I would set it right.’

Nodding, Hastion gave into the instinct to shovel food into his mouth, drowning out his burgeoning shame with the ecstasy of hot food after skipping lunch. He all but inhaled the meal as the queen started the kino, pouring glasses of wine for herself and Hastion, and juice for her husband.

The king leaned against his side, stealing grapes from the tray as he watched his wife work as if this was completely normal and decent. The projector came to life with a countdown, allowing her to time the start of the visual film with the matching gramophone track. That she could operate this technology with such ease was incredible. It made Hastion’s head spin, all these new inventions flowing in from Ilvon, complex and incredible. It was cheap, too, far cheaper than a version made with arcana.

As a sequence of tests for the projector began to roll, he swallowed, seizing his chance to speak before the film started.

“Um, my q—Malaidor?” He mentally kicked himself at the error as she turned her attention his way. “You might get a complaint from Sair Kalderos or his partner, as I barred him from the palace for the next two seasons.”

Her blink was of disbelief. “What could he have possibly done to deserve that?”

“It…” Hesitating, Hastion took a grape from the platter. “The answer is quite lewd and concerns several fantasies he has of you, Sir. I felt that, for everyone’s comfort and safety, it would be best to exclude him from future palace events. I’ll do my best not to dwell on them, either.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, formulating a response. “I see, good work, then. Thank you.”

Though vague and inconsequential, the praise brought a small smile to his face, satisfaction bubbling up within him. As he started on his dessert—something complicated that the king no doubt ordered for him, he noticed a curious look pass across her face. Her eyes scanned over his form like she was reading a book, almost uncomfortable in their intensity. Clearing his throat, he swallowed down some of what could have been cake. The buttercream frosting was like art; he very nearly felt guilty at eating it.

“Is there something wrong?” He asked, wiping his mouth and setting down his plate.

She only frowned at that, thoughtful. Hesitantly, Queen Malaidor reached her gloved hand up, hovering it by his cheek.

After a moment, she spoke, as if forgetting how to do so, “May I?”

Nodding, his mouth was as dry as the Sand Wastes. The queen’s thumb ran over his cheekbone, the fabric glove belying warm skin underneath. A shiver ran through him as he kept still for her, searching for any indication on what she wanted of him. Instead, her eyes slipped from his, tracing the contours of his jaw, his unkempt hair, the dark circles under his eyes where concealer had worn away.

“There was something on your face,” she said, by way of explanation. “A bit of ink, I think. I’m afraid I can’t get it off myself.”

Oh. Of course, he was foolish to think this was anything more than a queen being sure that her subject was clean and healthy before she spent time with him. And still, that hand didn’t leave his cheek.

“I must have nicked myself with a pen today, my apologies.”

Letting her palm drop to her lap, she leaned back, making herself comfortable. For the first time, Hastion noticed her outfit. Gone was the formal, official dress of this morning, replaced with comfortable-looking fabric trousers and a short-sleeved cotton shirt. A cloth jacket hung open around her, hair pulled back into a messy bun. The queen seemed… for lack of a better word, like a commoner. Not her looks, of course, nor the way she held herself, but the clothing made her seem that much approachable, less like the last member of a dying dynasty and more like a woman considering which restaurant to go to after work.

With a hum, she opened her mouth to speak when her husband waved his arm in front of them. Frustrated, his signs came quick.

‘The kino’s starting, if you want to talk, do it in the other room.’ Another sign followed, but Hastion couldn’t make it out, so he assumed it was meant for Queen Malaidor.

For her part, she gave him a gentle, fond sigh, like he had told her a bad joke. “Alright, alright. I’m shutting up.”

As they all settled in, Hastion watched the start of the film halfheartedly—something about an Ilvoni underground crime boss who ran a night club fighting with smugglers from the old Galin administration—distracted by the warm weight of his king tucked into his side and the queen just inches away on his other. It wasn’t too great a loss, he had never been one for action stories, and his Ilvoni was passable, at best. More often than not, he was stuck with only what was happening on screen for context.

All too soon, he was suppressing yawns—not because of the movie, but because of sleep deprivation. He had hardly absorbed the plot in the last twenty minutes, and now, there was a bird-winged person chastising a police officer in sign language as he entered the nightclub in the daytime.

A hand around his shoulders brought his temple to rest on his queen’s shoulder, cheek pressing down the soft fabric. The two of them seemed to hold their breath in unison, the queen relaxing first as he froze, letting her guide him to the best position. It took him a moment to calm his racing heart, drowsiness redoubling as he relaxed. Galengar draped a blanket over them all, signing to his wife about the kino. From what Hastion could feel, she signed back instead of speaking, using the arm not currently trapped by his weight.

Before he knew it, his eyes slid closed, slowly and inexorably, and his breathing evened out, the gramophone rambling on in the background with its orchestral scores and action scenes. It wasn’t as if he knew Ilvoni well enough to follow along, especially without a translation. Maybe one of the royals would explain it to him in the morning. Queen Malaidor’s fond chuckles drifted to him in his daze, lulling him further into slumber, the rain a pleasant backdrop to his companions’ activities.

His king nuzzled against his chest, politely ignoring that Hastion was still in his day clothes. Too tired to even consider mounting a protest, he just draped an arm over Galengar, letting himself succumb to the siren song of sleep.


	19. 1-14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party goes.... as well as it could have, except not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit we're almost done with arc 1 wtf! time flies ig!

As always, Malaidor was running ever so slightly late to something. Today, it was a meeting with Lord whoever, tomorrow it was a briefing on the crisis of the week, yesterday, it was a duel with the god of death. Always busy and always late, the life of the Stone Queen of Galailan.

An attendant appeared at her elbow as she strode down the hall, flanked by her escorts. Another constant in her life: an ever-rotating party of defenders, never staying long enough to properly befriend her. Well, she would learn to live with that; she  _ needed _ to learn to live with that. Letting factors like that affect her thought process would leave room for error in other, more crucial, objectives. She could worry about what the guards thought of her when the economy had stabilized and land grabs weren’t common.

Handing her a file on her next meeting, the attendant disappeared back into a servant’s entrance, as if she had never been there in the first place. It… unnerved her how Essren’s servants had been trained. They appeared when needed without complaint, without sound. Seen and not heard—a few unlucky ones had their tongues cut out, evidently too loud for his liking. It sickened her to think about, how that monster so easily disfigured those under him.

No, no time to think about that now. It would only serve as a distraction. She could feel guilty about her predecessor later, preferably in her husband’s bed while he slept on, oblivious to her turmoil. Listening to his breathing, slow and steady, eyelids fluttering now and then in dream, a snuffle sounding as he rolled over, hugging a pillow tight to his chest… it soothed her.

Galengar was a wonderful bedmate, even when his night terrors got the better of him. It had taken them a moment to get into a functional groove, especially after the time she had awoken to find him standing over the bathtub, knife in his hand, the blade pressed against—

No. Again, not time to think about that. One day, she would be able to kiss the orderly scars marking up his wrists, would let him understand just how much she cared, just how much she valued his continued existence, but for now, the best way to do that would be to keep working. Her task now was to make a better life for him, one that a child like him would have been able to survive without much in the way of maiming.

A glance at her file revealed that her meeting was with Lord Terioak. Wonderful. So, it seemed her day had gone from mediocre to bad. Why he had requested an audience with her so close to the ball, she didn’t know. Few people enjoyed speaking with that man, what with his abrasive demeanor and holier than thou attitude. One would think that being a member of the ruling dynasty would grant her some respect in his eyes, but all he did was complain about her and her husband both. His most recent attempts at intimidation had not gone unnoticed, after all. What an annoying tease.

Her guards opened the door without preamble, announcing her presence with supreme confidence. This was Malaidor’s element, what she had trained for. Terioak, of all people, would be familiar with the proper protocol, but here he lounged, draping himself over one of her chaises like they were peers out for coffee. Even if the queen was late, one should still stand, waiting for her to enter. It was only polite, respectful, even.

He scrambled to his feet, bowing low. For all his surprise, he still managed to look dignified, wiping that awful smirk off his face for the first time in what felt like years. So, it seemed that her status had more impact on him than her husband’s. A shame that he thought she would have more lenience if he pretended to submit himself to her.

Ignoring him, Malaidor let her eyes pass over his companion. He was a slight, Elven man; Vakino, presumably. His chestnut hair had been brushed back out of his face, pinned with little ornamental barrettes. Clothing not nearly as expensive as his partners, he stood beside the chaise, hands folded in front of him and head down. As he averted his dark eyes, Malaidor couldn’t help but notice a notch in one ear, the same scar her husband would have had if he stayed in Reikyani longer. Subtle but there, if one knew what to look for.

A sickening dread roiled in her stomach. This was far from a man recovered from his past, all the broken pieces of his psyche grinding against each other like shards of glass, destined to wear him into a fine dust. Resisting the urge to snap, to scream at Terioak until he cowered before her, was among the hardest things she had ever done. She had banned this practice for a  _ reason _ , and here he was, flaunting his insolence in her face like she would support him.

“Hello, Lord Terioak.” Falling back on her training, her voice was smooth and sonorous. “To what pleasure do I owe this meeting?”

He straightened, though kept his head down. “I have uncovered some information regarding…” he paused, as if the words were rancid in his mouth, “the King of Galailan, some crucial information that may impact his ability to rule justly and impartially.”

Calmly, she sat down in the armchair, inclining her head to his companion without addressing his comments. “And this must be the oft-discussed Vakino. It is wonderful to finally meet you.”

With a suppressed flinch, the man didn’t react to her with more than a quiet “thank you, my Lord” while his… partner… fumed. Sitting down on the couch, Terioak fought to keep his expression civil. How someone so temperamental had been afforded such a high position in the courts, she could only attribute to his second cousin. Lord Graeus, for all his love of family, was not keen on the man himself.

Perhaps a few well-spoken words would convince him of this, especially if she could get to him at the party. It seemed as if Lord Graeus favored her social policies more and more each day as they all reaped the boons of an entire class of people entering the job market.

“Well, don’t waste my time.” Her tone came high and lofty. How he had managed to get a word in with her organizers to  _ get _ this meeting, she needed to rectify. “As I’m sure you are aware, there are preparations to supervise for the fete tonight, and I would very much love to get back to those, if possible.”

His eyes lit up with an emotion she could have pegged as greed, had there been less bloodlust in it. “I have evidence that King Galengar is not who he has led us to believe.”

Us. Bold of him to assume they found themselves in the same ship.

Pausing, he tried to read her expression. Upon finding nothing but blank serenity, he continued, a tad less dramatic than previous. “I had reason to believe that he is actually from  _ Reikyani _ .”

Malaidor kept her face steady, expression unchanged. As the silence stretched between them, the wind seemed to come out of Terioak’s sails some. He eased back, a mixture of confusion and revulsion bleeding into his eyes at her continued silence. His companion had kept his head down, not stirring at the accusation.

“And what,” she finally said, voice even, “would make you think that?”

When he opened his mouth, she cut him off.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. Let me be honest with you, Lord Terioak. I don’t care. I don’t care what theory you managed to come up with, and I don’t care what insufficient evidence you dredged up to support it. What I  _ do _ care is this invasion of privacy—both my husband’s and mine. What gave you the impression that this is how to treat your rightful king?” Folding her hands in her lap, Malaidor stared at the space between his eyes.

He wilted at the attention, pale green eyes straying down to her cheekbones. “It is important information for a ruler of the nation to—”

“Did you manage to forget that your King wields as much power and deserves just as much respect as I do?” It came out as a snap, but Malaidor’s patience had stretched very thin indeed. “You waste my time with a nonsense meeting, insinuate that my husband is keeping secrets from me, and to top it all off, speak of Reikyani like it is something shameful to have been forced into, rather than a horrible, nightmarish chapter of this country’s history.” That got his companion to glance up at her, something glinting behind his eyes. “I would recommend you think about your words next time, rather than imply such horrid, cruel things on accident. If you know anything at all, you will erase this from your mind. Let us make sure that nothing untoward happens.”

Numb, Terioak nodded, mouth agape. Without a second glance at him, Malaidor rose, smoothing down her dress and adjusting her train. Her guards fell into step beside her silently, escorting her out of the room as she said a goodbye that didn’t reach her ears.

It took everything in her not to betray the sheer rage she felt. Blood boiling in her veins, she all but stalked to her stylist’s office, leagues from the right headspace to spend four hours getting dressed for the autumnal party. Gods and motherfucking men, she was going to rip Terioak to shreds. Be it literally, or politically, she was going to tear him a new one. He would be laughed out of court by the time she was finished with him, laughed or frozen out.

Passing through the ornate double doors to the vast closets and dressing rooms the stylists were afforded, Malaidor was met with the sound of laughing. Her husband was getting dressed, accompanied by his ever-present Hastion. The man was laughing at one of Gal’s jokes. Judging from what little she could see of the punchline, it was the one about a man and the fish. The memory of when he had first told it to her, them gathered around a campfire, struggling to communicate through the barrier of her shoddy sign, cooled her temper some and brought a faint, fond smile to her face.

“How are we looking?” She called.

Gal turned with a grin on his face, though his suit was less put together. Well, at this point, one could hardly call it a suit at all. His undershirt clung to his skin, weighed down in places by shapewear. A girdle pushed his stomach into the correct form necessary for a king, and tight stays flattened his breasts. Though she knew how long he would have it on, the sight of it still made her worry. His raspy, rattling breaths echoed in her mind, coming from years ago.

No pants graced his legs yet, only boxers and hose held up with garters covered his form. A packer helped fend off prying eyes, as inappropriate as they may have been to stare at their king in such a manner.

‘We’re good! I think I can go like this, don’t you think?’ He joked, striking a flattering pose.

Well, every pose he struck was flattering.

Malaidor dismissed her guards to wait outside the room. No sense in having them here, it wasn’t as if the stylist had plans to stab her through the heart in her skivvies.

Imbuing her voice with as much affection as possible, she got up on the mirror-shrouded platform and waited for the attendants. “I would agree, but I wouldn’t want to fight everyone for a piece of you.”

His voiceless, breathy laugh made her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. ‘Oh, definitely. I’ll be the star of the show.’

A fond smile slipped onto Hastion’s face, though it faded into a more professional expression as he straightened. Facing her, he gave a polite bow, more for show than anything, and clasped his hands behind him.

“I regret to inform Your Majesties that Sair Hinn insisted that he attend to my dress uniform himself, and I didn’t have the heart to say ‘no’ to him. He was rather set on some modifications, claiming that I’ve gained some weight since the last time it fitted well, and that it was obvious in the way my clothes sat on me.” An embarrassed laugh slipped from his mouth. “It seems like you’re feeding me well, according to Sair Hinn, at least.”

Considering how skinny he had been when he had first signed on, yes, they were. Malaidor would agree that some of his clothes could stand to be refitted, too. He had grown more muscular, of course, and he didn’t have that deathly pallor about him. His recovery had been one of the crucial features that netted him a position as captain, living proof that he could bounce back from sickness easily. Now, he looked healthy as a horse, better than some left over from Essren.

With a faint smile his way, Malaidor let herself be stripped to her undergarments by sure, impersonal hands. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, and the guard was renowned for his discretion. “Alright, then we shall see you at the party. Hopefully, Sair Hinn can adjust the seams so you don’t tear your shirt when you flex.”

The humor caught him by surprise, a punch of laughter bursting from his mouth as his smile widened. “That would certainly be a sight. I fear a few of the nobles wouldn’t be too disappointed.”

“Mm.” She hummed, tracing the beginnings of stubble on his chin. “What a shame. Do be sure you shave; I’m all for personal expression, but I would recommend against stubble at an important event. Beards haven’t been ‘in’ for quite a few decades now.”

A little blush caught the tips of his ears as his hand drifted up to brush against his chin. “Of course, Sir.”

At the same time, Gal let out a huff. ‘He looks cute with it! I think he should keep it!’

Oh, Gods. Were they really going to bicker over something as silly as another man’s scruffiness in public. Before she responded, she caught the wry, jovial look in her husband’s eye. Ah. Right.

“Well,” gesturing Hastion closer with a gloved hand, Malaidor tipped his chin up to the light, “I can certainly see the appeal, but I worry that others won’t be as fashion-inclined as I.” A joke; she wore what her stylists told her to and whatever suited her comforts in the confines of her rooms. “And there is also the issue of growing it out. Elves  _ are _ rather known for their propensity to grow patchy, scraggly beards.

‘I think it would be cute.’ Galengar countered, giving her a pout. It could be quite fun to play up their roles sometimes, the stern queen and the silly king. ‘The captain of the guard, known for his boyish charm highlighting that aspect of himself. Scruffy could be in.’

Hastion was very much  _ not _ known for his boyish charm, but they could burn that bridge when they got to it. In reality, he was currently flushing under the weight of their attention, peering up at Malaidor and holding still in the palm of her hand. His eyes flicked from royal to royal as they spoke, each iteration enough to throw him off with the words he wished to choose.

“I-I don’t think I have much charm. Not to the nobles, at least.” He finally managed.

Her husband’s gaze turned to him fully. ‘Now, now. What have we said about lying to us? They’d jump on you if you even pretended to humor them.’

The scolding, however mocking, made the poor man wilt like a flower in the desert. His ears drooped and Malaidor could feel a flinch run through him, head ducking down. He tried to hide in plain sight, stuttering out consonants as he found his voice. Instantly, Gal’s face softened, but the man wasn’t looking at him enough to let him get a sentence out. She felt sympathy for the guard. It could often be hard to tell her husband’s jokes from his seriousness.

“Hastion,” Malaidor intervened, patting his cheek with one hand in an unpracticed attempt to soothe, “he’s only toying with you. Go, get dressed and have your makeup done so you can be the center of attention.  _ Someone _ needs to let all the noble girls fawn all over them, and I fear that you fit the bill perfectly. Why don’t you give them a show, make sure to upstage us at our own event.”

She let amusement bleed into her voice, marking her jest. For his part, Hastion straightened and nodded, fighting the blush from his cheeks with a tentative smile. His bow marked his farewells, perfect as always. Watching him leave, Malaidor couldn’t help but sigh. It was going to be quite a long night, considering the sheer amount of fabric the attendants had piled on the desk for her and her husband both.

Time passed quickly, what with the two of them joking with each other, reporting the goings on of their day as they were forced into yet more restrictive shapewear and layers. More and more, she was growing to hate the fashion trends of the capital. They were nonsensical, made by people who had never had to toil a day in their lives. Why she couldn’t just wear a simple blouse and trousers…

Her husband had the misfortune of more layers, though. He needed to have a shapely form befitting of a king, and that meant padding out how his ribs still jutted out a bit, despite years of regular meals, and the swell of his chest under everything. Insoles went into his shoes to boost his height, while low, hidden heels ensured Malaidor towered over most others, a veritable pillar of strength. At least she wasn’t one of the petty nobles, using a party like this to vie for a higher-ranking person’s affections. One of the few benefits of being from the dynasties.

Before long, her makeup was being done as someone worked her hair into something less businesslike and more ethereal. Her husband had been ushered off to another room, likely having his own matters dealt with. They would see each other soon enough. Concealer covered the dark lines of the tattoo down her back, the bold black lines of the rune along the indent of her spine and across her shoulder blades dabbed away under skin-toned cream. If something happened, well, that concealer wasn’t going to stay put. Her stylist likely hated that she insisted on open shoulder dresses for large events, but she was not going to be caught unawares.

As soon as everything was finished and either sealed or pinned in place, Malaidor was whisked off to the party. It was bad form to arrive too early, but even worse form to arrive too late. There would be fanfare, the royal family would be welcomed, and the fete could begin in earnest. That, and people could flock them to ask questions when they attempted to make their rounds. Fun.

Her heels clicked loudly as she strode down the hallway, back straight and arms folded behind her. Her skirts rustled with every step, a gorgeous cream lace, with gossamer blue peeking out between the holes of the fabric. The bodice was similar, though jewels had been embedded in it to emphasize her ample chest. A large, expensive necklace hung from her neck, the silver highlighting the fairness of her skin and sapphires the faint blue hue of her pale eyes. The matching earrings dangled from her ears, a heavy weight.

Suppressing the instinct to adjust the stomacher as it pressed insistently against her, she simply took deep breaths, letting herself get used to the feeling of it all. One of these days, she would become accustomed to this level of pageantry, but today was not the day.

All too soon, she was led to the door and put into position beside her husband. Inside the room, she could hear the traditional melody announcing their presence. With a sympathetic glance her way, Galengar extended his hand so she could take it. Together, they walked in, the picture of marital alliance, a strong union in a strong country. By keeping the image of their marriage concrete and effective, they kept their reputation and power centered and controlled. It certainly wouldn’t do for one to be seen rejecting the other, however slight. Tabloids would harp on that for weeks.

People bowed, and the pair waved, making their way over to the most opulent section. The other dynasties had already gathered, drinking either flutes of champagne or the non-alcoholic options provided. Lord Nadja was nowhere to be seen, though, that was to be expected. She took her time with these things, attending in fits and bursts. Likely, she was in the bathroom with her new partner—the one she had promised to unveil—fighting off a crowd-and-booze-induced panic attack.

Malaidor felt for her. Crowds were… horrid. So many people in such a confined space, all vying for one’s attention had to be one of the worst ways to spend an evening. If she could choose, she would let her husband take care of it all, retreating back to her room and hiding for the bulk of the night. Paperwork was much more preferable to this.

Even still, there were conversations to be had and appearances to make. It wouldn’t do to have a queen no one ever saw. Now, as the band started up their music for the night, she would have some time to mill about, exchange pleasantries with people, have a drink or two, and dance with her husband. That was something to be excited for. The thought of it, the crowd backing away to give them space, Galengar’s undivided attention on her, the two of them having a ceremonial waltz… She would be embarrassed to admit she looked forward to it.

Taking her attention out of her head, she nodded at a few petty nobles and settled in a slightly less populated section of the room. From there, she had a good view of the venue. It was the ballroom, done up in the usual standard. In the middle, there was the dance floor, surrounded by open space to mingle in, further ringed by tables and chairs for those who might want to sit. Dinner would be served in an hour and a half, and there would be dessert and dancing afterwards.

Her gaze drifted to her husband and captain of the guard, currently engrossed in conversation with a few people whose names she couldn’t place. They must have been new—that, or of a very tenuous relation to any of the established houses. Gal always liked to start his rounds off early, an entirely fair method, while Malaidor preferred people come to her. Of all of them, Hastion was the quietest, answering questions directed at him as he oscillated between hovering at Gal’s elbow and making rounds of his own, chatting as Captain Erro’ar, rather than Guard Hastion.

For how uncomfortable he looked in his dress uniform, it still suited him well. The deep blue fabric contrasted nicely with his tan skin, the gilded buttons giving him a regal appearance, fitting of the family he kept company. The golden stitching matched the warm undertones of his hair and the kohl around his eyes was a deep brown, rather than black. Foundation had smoothed out any imperfection, a faint blush and contour giving him a natural, dignified aura.

Not for the first time, if she was being honest, the idea of shoving him into a closet and kissing him until both of them were breathless crossed Malaidor’s mind, restrained by the panic attack that would surely result for the both of them. She couldn’t betray Gal like that—Hastion wouldn’t even dream of it. They were taking their time finding a groove between them, and he would never forgive them for something so… so selfish.

For now, she would have to content herself with simply watching as he stood by her husband’s side, posture prim and perfect, hands folded behind his back.

Perhaps her own guard felt uncomfortable, standing in a crowd of her superiors like this, but it wasn’t that severe an issue, if she was being honest. Not many would dare attack the queen, especially not when the next in line to the throne was Gal. He played up his raucous side in parties like this, always with a drink in hand and an easy, if artificial, smile on his face as he flirted and flitted and chatted.

He was good at that, playing the part of a ditsy king in public, a man unfamiliar with courtly protocol enough to still be making mistakes. If not for his strategic distractions, they would likely still be stuck trying to pass legislation to raise the legal status of crossbreeds. With him in the picture, many nobles found it easier to nod along to whatever he suggested, thinking it would get shot down by someone or other, and only listening to his actual proposal when some new law hit the book, passed unanimously.

Sure, a few of their reputations got ruined when they were caught supporting the closures of disreputable brothels or fronts for the black market, but most had learned that Galengar did not take orders on what to do, so much as suggestions to keep in mind when he ruled. He was not Essren, but he refused to be walked over by someone with a pedigree longer than they were tall, as he put it. It was admirable, the way he demanded Malaidor’s respect, regardless of their differences in breeding. Galengar would not be silenced, ironically enough. That, and his economic policy decisions were sound, often closer tied to the long-term, rather than an immediate boon.

The depression fifty years ago had stayed fresh in everyone’s minds, most notably in Centrailia. It still made her sick to think about how many were forced to go without food, especially after the blizzards. Her reign would  _ not _ have a repeat of that.

Now, though, the party was in full swing around her. Her husband, dressed in a golden suit with his hair swept back from his face, chatted with some tenuously related members of the Seli’in dynasty by way of Hastion, the guard faithfully translating signs into words. The nobles laughed at a joke Gal had made, one of the women giving him a look more suggestive than admiring.

Despite herself, a pang of jealousy ran through her. It was ridiculous. He may have been her husband by law, but he likely didn’t want her feeling jealous on his behalf, even if he wished to stay in her company. He hadn’t even been with anyone since they were wed, both to preserve their reputations and out of guilt. She wasn’t blind, of course. It grew rather hard to miss those lingering glances and unspoken words after spending a few years in close contact with the same person. The question of revulsion or love was an eternal one, the feelings only inches apart from each other.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” A voice at her side snapped her out of her thoughts. It had been a dream to think she could get away with being left alone tonight. “Forgive me if I seem presumptuous, but you appear to be rather bored already.”

Turning, she found herself beside Lord Graeus. A calm air about him, he held a wine glass out to her.

He saw her eye the glass and gave a wry smile in return. “The fruit punch. I take it you aren’t as keen on alcohol as your husband.”

As he glanced to the man in question, Malaidor followed his gaze to see that Gal had transitioned to telling an animated story to some petty nobles, the champagne glass in his hand still full. She caught the signs ‘ornaments’, ‘pine trees’, and ‘carriage shootout’. Ah, that. That  _ was _ a fun story, but it was a shame he couldn’t mention how he had thrown a dagger right in between the enforcer’s eyebrows, or how it had taken place with fae in the Solaq, rather than here on Idran.

“Oh, he enjoys speaking with everyone.” With a careful, blank note, she accepted the drink from him, sipping and tasting neither alcohol nor poisons. Poisoning her would put an even worse candidate on the throne, from their perspectives. “It can be nice to mingle in such an informal setting.”

Chuckling, Lord Graeus nodded. “It’s quite the blessing to join in on the festivities. Say, have you seen my son tonight?”

“I can’t say I have, no.”

“You’d might like to.” His smile was all sly joy. “He elected to take Lord Hekion, as no one would have him.” He let out a barking, humored huff. “If you can believe that, of course.”

Malaidor couldn’t help the familiar ease in her voice. “All the courtly lords and ladies, and our dear Hekion was left unattended. Quite the shame, really. Congratulations go to you, for such a noble and good-natured son.”

A good-natured grumble left his lips, nearly lost in the band’s music. “A rare sight these days.”

“Growing more common, I’d hope.” She took another sip. “While I have you, I do hope you’ll spare me some time for a concern I have regarding your dynasty.”

Groaning, he took a gulp from his own drink, noticeably non-alcoholic. “Is it about Lord Terioak?”

Well, at least it was good that he had some self-awareness of the issues regarding his own family. “I’m afraid it is.”

With a sigh, he gestured to one of the tables on the edge of the dance floor. “Then let’s speak. I do hope you’ll allow me to sit, Your Majesty. My old legs don’t like that I spend so much time standing.”

“Of course.”

Leading the way, she bade him sit, the two of them squirreled away in a corner table. Most people who wanted to get a word in with her wouldn’t dare if two dynasty heads were having a conversation. Not only would it be rude, it would do little to endear one to either families. For now, she was spared her typical queenly duties in favor of other, less draining queenly duties.

Lord Graeus seemed… tired. Maybe it was in the way he walked, as if his joints ached, or the way he let out a faint groan as he sat. The man was no spring chicken, but he was far from infirmity. Stress had done him no favors, it seemed. Where he was once a vibrant, active man, age and work had robbed him of that. It saddened Malaidor, that this man, who had been such a fixture of her childhood, was slowly wasting away before his time.

“I am aware of the issues and allegations.” He started, folding his hands on the leaf-patterned tablecloth. “This is not to invalidate or discredit what you wish to speak of, but I would like to assure you that we are aware of his… fiancé.” The word came out like pitch in his mouth, a suppressed disgust coloring it.

Tone level, she laced her fingers together around the stem of her wine glass. “That  _ is _ at the forefront of many minds. I had a meeting with him just today, and what I saw disquieted me.”

“Your Majesty,” it startled her, that note in his voice approaching pleading, “there isn’t anything I can  _ do _ about it. Believe me, I like this just as much as you do—even less, potentially, but I’ve gone through the laws and rulings. Aside from excommunicating them both, there is little I can do to address this. I can’t say Essren did much to help with these sorts of things.”

That he was taking this seriously was… a surprise. Lord Graeus was famous for his hands-off approach to his dynasty, letting the less powerful members get away with far more than they should. To see him in such distress over something that had grown quite ordinary over his years at court…

“I’ll see what I can do.” She found herself saying. “I believe our feelings are quite in line on this matter. There was another issue, though.”

Lord Graeus’s expression hid misery at that thought. “Please, say what you must. This is a wonderful day, and I trust we can set aside our differences.”

Raising an eyebrow, Malaidor drummed her fingers on the table absentmindedly. “I have been setting aside our differences since the beginning of my reign. My responsibility is for my subjects. But this isn’t what I wished to discuss. It has been brought to my attention that Lord Terioak has been rather antagonistic to my husband.”

Lord Graeus grew pale fast enough that Malaidor considered calling for a medic. Even still, he motioned for her to continue.

“Witness reports state that he has followed him to his chambers, made wild accusations in order to get a rise out of him, and refused to acknowledge his discomfort at such things. This morning, he requested an audience with me and, when I arrived, he attempted to ‘inform’ me on a rather nasty rumor regarding my husband that I would rather not be repeated. As I am not one to punish needlessly and without warning, I do trust that you would let him know that this sort of behavior is completely unacceptable.”

He nodded, one hand covering his mouth. “I deeply apologize for his… him. I will see to it that he corrects his demeanor. Please know that the Kadrios dynasty meant no disrespect.”

“A bit challenging to be responsible when you aren’t aware something is happening. Do be more careful, though; I will not stand for such behavior from  _ any _ dynasty, my own included. Thank you for your time—” her eyes drifted to Hastion, currently being handed a cup of punch by an attendant, smiling as he took a drink, “and for hearing me out. I pray your son has a wonderful time, and I do hope he and Lord Hekion remain friends. It is so important to reach out in this day and age.”

“Very true, very true. I will be sure I am more attentive in the coming months.” He replied, following her gaze. “Captain Erro’ar has been with you for some time now, hasn’t he?”

With a non-committal hum, Malaidor finished her glass. “Yes, he has, hasn’t he. It’s always nice to see such a hard worker.”

“It seems all he  _ does _ is work.” Though said without much weight, she could feel the way his words intended to probe. “It’s a wonder how he finds time for his hobbies.”

Her tone, ever placid and blank, had a warning edge to it. “If you feel that he does not have enough time off, consider speaking with him on the matter. He knows best why he elects not to use his vacation days, and he knows best how much he puts in for overtime. There isn’t much I would do in regards to that, especially given his choice to do so.”

That seemed to shake Lord Graeus a bit. “I—”

Before he could continue, Malaidor caught Hastion’s eye and waved for him to come. Bidding his farewells to the king, he strode over, the ever-confident, imperturbable captain. He bowed to her, perfect and proper, before offering a dazzling smile.

“How may I assist you, Your Majesty?” His low voice was easily heard over the music.

“Lord Graeus here inquired after you, Captain.” No doubt he could hear the satisfaction in her voice. “And I thought it was so fitting that you were close by. I’m afraid I’m unable to answer questions concerning your personal life, so I offer a solution.”

A faint smile plucked at his lips, amusement. “I see, quite the clever compromise, Your Majesty. May I sit?”

Rising, she tried to convey her gratitude. “Oh, you can take my chair, Captain. I might as well say hello to everyone before my presence is missed. It’s been a pleasure, Lord Graeus.”

The Elven man bowed to her, face unreadable. She couldn’t please everyone, especially those who assumed she was working her staff to death. If he knew even half the struggle of getting Hastion to rest at an acceptable time, or the frustration of receiving yet another report, ink still drying, in the dead of night, he would be singing quite a different tune.

As she walked, methodically navigating the room and greeting the people who chose to attend, Malaidor couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of Terioak. Fine by her. If he felt that he needed to skip this party for whatever reason, it only spoke to his inefficiency as a lord. The Gods only knew how his territory had gone to shit. Six years in his care, and the land was already overburdened, the people tired, overworked, and overtaxed. Few liked him, in and out of the court. His absence would make his removal that much easier.

Lord Nadja had finally made her appearance, edging in to take a spot at the table with a glass of punch in hand. Beside her, a veiled Orcic man took a seat, one hand on her elbow to guide her. That must have been her promised partner, judging from how intently he focused on her. From what she could see, he murmured quiet placations, an attempt to soothe the savage beast of the Seli’in dynasty. A good choice for Nadja, sweet and handsome to boot. Why she hadn’t brought him around sooner, Malaidor didn’t know.

When Lord Nadja glanced up at her, Malaidor gave a wave, but purposefully veered away from the pair, an unspoken token of support; ‘I won’t speak with you until you’re feeling better’. Of all things, Malaidor was not a cruel woman. She wouldn’t pile more stress onto Nadja’s plate.

A few more conversations later, her eyes drifted around the room. Galenger was getting by without his translator, sticking with people that understood sign. Hastion, too, had gone his own way from Lord Graeus, leaving the man looking like he would have rather swallowed a lemon. Well, that was what assumptions did to a person.

Her captain smiled as he spoke, but it wasn’t genuine. The realization startled her, that she could tell the difference. His eyes didn’t glitter with that bright, jovial light, he didn’t let out that loud, barking laugh. It… it was almost satisfying that  _ she _ could draw that reaction from him while others were left with terse politeness. A younger girl acted coy as her friend—or brother? From the way they were acting, it was hard to tell—sidled up beside her, addressing Hastion like she was sizing up a piece of meat at the butcher’s shop.

So sad for them that he was taken. Satisfaction bubbled up from the depths of her psyche. She certainly wasn’t going to be sharing him with anyone, save her husband, of course. A pang of guilt ran through her, warring. That wasn’t very fair to the man; he had as much a right to decide who he wished to date as she did.

Then again, it was an annoyance to watch the girl tuck a conveniently loose strand of hair behind her ear  _ again _ as she handed Hastion a drink. He denied it with grace, like he always did, before she insisted that he take it. That smile grew strained, but he didn’t argue. As he wandered away to address other people, Galengar appeared at his side, signing at him. From this angle, Malaidor couldn’t make out the words, but Hastion’s embarrassment was clear enough. Gal patted his arm and shook his head, giving him a broad, friendly smile as the guard took a few hesitant drinks from his gifted cup, seemingly at her husband’s urging.

Gal always wanted people to feel comfortable, after all. If Hastion wanted to drink at a party, her husband would be the first person in his corner to cheer him on. As she moved, the crowd shielded them both from her sight, and she was back to making insufferable small talk with people that weren’t listening to begin with. That is, until the band began to play the traditional song to welcome in the fall.

They were early. The band was rarely, if ever, early, but Malaidor didn’t have time to address that before the people parted, forming a path for her and her husband. Turning, he smiled at her, posture relaxed and cheery. He was good at this, deceptively so. How Gal managed to look so at ease with all eyes on him when, just a few years ago, he flinched when someone made eye contact with him, impressed her.

Calm as ever, he took her hand lightly, giving a short bow as she curtseyed. Ordinarily, there would be some conversation between them, but neither were prone to small talk when so many eyes were on them. Words could easily be taken out of context, twisted around into something damaging and damning.

Now, though, her husband held her attention like a lamp to a moth. They assumed the proper position, her taking the lead as he beamed up at her, daring anyone else to intrude on this. The music swelled, and they began their waltz, steps sure and steady. Gal moved with a grace unlike anyone else, following her motions and covering up any potential mistake without a second thought. He was a pleasure to dance with, movements sure and steady.

His smile, genuine and cheerful, could replace the world. If she never saw anything again, she would be happy, pleased with the course her life had taken. With his hand on her shoulder and hers at the small of his back, the space between them seemed charged, a peculiar energy buzzing where they nearly brushed. She could see a joke twinkling in his eyes, though her damnable husband bit his tongue, let her mind fill in the gaps. Oh, he was going to make her lose composure like this, cycling through their myriad of inside jokes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hastion swaying a bit, leaning his hip against the edge of a table. Her frown deepened, though she didn’t tilt her head. Gal, always so in tune with her, caught the shift in attention and responded with a scan of the crowd. There was a disturbance in the back, and his smile grew artificial, a saccharine thing, not meant for her but for their watchers.

The crowd parted in front of them, a few of the nobles muttering some choice words as Terioak elbowed his way in, followed by his partner. Head bowed, Vakino murmured apologies for his master, trudging along behind like a pet on a leash. He was, in a way. Squeezing Galengar’s hand, she turned them so he could see what was happening just over his shoulder.

As soon as his eyes met Vakino’s, he paled, his light grip on her hand turning tight. To his credit, his expression didn’t change, nor did he stumble. It horrified her, the skill with which her husband hid his distress. Her hand at his back, she could see his breath accelerate, heartbeat racing in anticipation. Vakino, though, Vakino was an entirely different story. He stared openly, mouth agape as he tried to form words, a dagger at his belt. Like a man possessed, he staggered forward, tuning out the calls of alarm and concern around him.

Shit.

Galengar’s gaze turned hard as he did his best to will the man away with his mind. Nobles did what they could to assist, from their perspective, a commoner spouse unaware of how this all worked. The band played on as someone grabbed his arms and arrested his advancement. Out of the corner of her eye, Malaidor noticed Nadja rising, giving her an infinitesimal nod to keep dancing. She would take care of it as best she could.

There wasn’t a moment to feel relief. Mouthing at first, Vakino let his voice carry, eyes locked onto the king.

“Briar?” Malaidor could see the way the name shot through Gal like an arrow, causing him to stumble as they faltered. “You got out?”

Before they could ignore him, Terioak was on his companion, adding his voice to the din. “Dear, what do you mean? That’s King Galengar; you must be confused.”

Brows furrowed and people frowned when he spoke, urging Vakino to collect himself in the bathroom as he kept muttering Gal’s old name under his breath, barely drowned out by the music. Lord Graeus was already standing, crossing over to Terioak with a look of great frustration and dismay on his face. For all people claimed not to care about Reikyani graduates, they knew well enough to know what a hazy gaze and half-controlled, clumsy gestures meant.

With any luck, Vakino wouldn’t remember this night through whatever he had been dosed with. Making a mental note to keep those two away from Gal as much as she could, she let their dance falter and stop, a firm, gentle pressure on Gal’s back. It was going to be okay, she tried to convey to him. It was all going to be okay, and he would be safe. To everyone else, it was just a bad drug interaction in someone who shouldn’t have been taking drugs at all. Lord Graeus would chew out Terioak, apologize to them, and Terioak’s position in court would be closely examined following this incident.

She knew what he was trying to do, and it was going to fail—

“You left me there!” Came Vakino’s wail as guards took him from the bystanders—Malaidor would have to send them some gifts for their efforts. “You escaped and you left us all there! You’re a monster, a damned monster!”

Gal’s breath hitched in prelude to tears, that smile long-since gone. Abandoning any pretense at dancing, Malaidor laid her hands on his shoulders, squeezing fondly.

Her murmurs couldn’t be heard over the sound of surprised conversations. Yes, this might expose them, but it was far preferable to Gal breaking out into tears in the face of such accusations. “You’re not, you know that. You didn’t have a choice.”

It didn’t help his misery much, but there was little Malaidor could in this moment. Terioak’s gloating grin taunted her, as if this was meant to tear apart their marriage. Well, he had another thing coming. Hands flew to mouths as Vakino continued on with his wails, words slurred as he struggled, accusations nigh incomprehensible. She would extend an invitation to the kyani recovery program to him soon, preferably after Terioak was dealt with.

The attention was on them, now. Gal, uncharacteristically solemn, kept his emotions in check, taking slow, deep breaths. A mixture of sympathy and shock filled the gazes around them, waiting to see what the queen would do. No doubt, they were banking on a rejection. It would be political suicide to endorse a man who had withheld something so important from the populace—from the nobles, too, but Malaidor wasn’t known for being that predictable.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she gave him a small smile. The look of worry in his eyes shattered her heart into little, minute pieces.

“Well,” her voice was loud enough to reach their audience, “it seems we won’t need to lose too much sleep over that anymore. It’s just random affair allegations and accusations of petty thievery from here on out. Par for the course, right?”

A silent chuckle made his shoulders bounce, expression bittersweet as he started to mouth something. The two of them were interrupted by a loud thud and a scream from behind. In an instant, they turned, a curse dropping from Malaidor’s lips as she saw Hastion, unconscious on the floor, bleeding from a cut on his head where he had hit the table as he fell. The glass in his hand had shattered on the ground.

Oh, fuck her.

Distress forgotten, Galengar mouthed a ‘fuck’ and signed for a noble to get the doctor. She dashed off immediately, eyes wide. Terioak’s grin had only widened. Well. Enough of that.

Addressing a guard, Malaidor straightened, face stern. “Sair Eleth, take Lord Terioak to a holding cell for suspicions of forced marriage and drugging. Now, please.” That certainly sent a ripple through the crowd. In times like this, it was very hard to be the queen. “Lord Graeus. I trust we will be having a conversation soon.”

The man blanched, but nodded as Terioak was dragged out, fighting the guards every step of the way. Before his patriarch could get a word in edgewise, Terioak was screaming his opinion, loud and clear for everyone to hear.

“The King’s a Reiny! We all heard it! He’s a Reiny and the Queen’s been lying this whole time!”

Malaidor didn’t have a moment to speak before someone—Hekion, of all people, whipped his head around, drowning him out with his cry, “Does anyone in this room have medical training? The Captain needs a doctor!”

He was a good kid. In her periphery, she could see Lord Nadja already directing the gathered people to make space as Galengar knelt beside his guard, checking vitals with unerring accuracy. His face was determined, not paying attention to anyone else as he gently lifted Hastion’s head and checked his breathing, two fingers taking his pulse as Hastion murmured something incomprehensible.

There was little for her to do but administrate and keep order, instruct the guards in the absence of their captain. A few of the more troublesome ones, shocked into compliance, moved at her beck and call like minnows in a current. Guests were dismissed, seen off with the same urgency one would give an attempted assassination. Lords Graeus, Theolin, Nadja, and Hekion all lingered, helping people file out. For all the newspapers would dramatize this tomorrow morning, let it not be said that the dynasties reacted quickly and efficiently, ensuring that everyone was secure and escorted out.

The two boys left as the doctor entered, faces pale. Dreamlike, Malaidor felt someone bump her shoulder, supporting. Glancing to the side, she met eyes with Lord Nadja, the woman pale.

“He’ll be alright.” Her voice was quiet, eerily knowing. “A shame it had to be him, though. I’m sorry for how this night went; may I host you for tea to make it up to you?”

Malaidor bit back a sigh at her dramatics. Now really wasn’t the time. Her tone was snappish as she spoke. “Nadja. I respect you, you know this. But you also know this is not a good time to bait me into betraying this kingdom, or whatever evils you think I’m committing behind your back. My—” the word ‘friend’ bubbled up to her lips, “captain is prone on my ballroom floor, clearly having a poor reaction to something he most certainly did not ingest willingly, and considering how the rest of this night went, I am far too tired to contend with you as well. Allow me to attend to him,  _ please _ .”

The woman blinked at that. “I… Of course. Are you sure this was not simply—”

“Captain Erro’ar doesn’t imbibe.” Malaidor leveled her gaze with Nadja’s, daring her to contradict her. “Even less at public events. I have never once seen him intoxicated, and neither has my husband.” Her steps were sure as she took Hastion’s side, opposite her husband, watching as Hastion’s eyes drifted open, unfocused and glassy.

Gods and men, the poor thing. Fondly, not caring who was studying her for any trace of cruelty, she cupped Hastion’s cheek. He mumbled something, though from what she could understand, it was confused nonsense. Doing her best to be calming, she stroked his cheekbone, muttering soothing words as the doctor examined him quickly. Graeus and Nadja, for their part, did their best to hide their surprise. How confusing this must be to them, the Stone Queen exhibiting an uncanny gentleness to a man who didn’t even spend the bulk of his time with her.

She addressed her next words to them, a note of ominousness creeping into her tone. “I do not think this was some accident, mind you. I would recommend that each of you have your ducks in a row—you especially, Graeus. I will not forget tonight, be sure of that. If I find that either of you  _ knew _ about this…” The sheer rage in her voice made them flinch.

Blanching, Graeus took a step forward, but stopped when his eyes landed on Gal. “I didn’t—”

“I don’t care.” Her words struck him like a blow, as hard and unyielding as her namesake. “I don’t want an excuse, I want you to ensure that something like this  _ never _ happens again. If my husband elects to forgive you, then wonderful. If he doesn’t… well, I was never one for controlling him. There will be consequences; do not make me regret being so soft. Do  _ not _ —” she spat the syllables like darts from a crossbow, “fuck with my family. Ever.”

As if in a dream, the two of them took a step back, genuinely alarmed. From their previous actions, it seemed like they had truly forgotten that  _ she _ was the reigning monarch. Funny. Very funny. Unfortunately, Malaidor wasn’t laughing. They bowed, said something that she couldn’t hear over the rushing blood in her ears, and left. Fine. Let them scheme. Let them plot and pursue and make her life all manner of difficult. She could play that game too. She could show them what an avenging angel looked like when it took the throne.

Now, though, it was time to turn that fury and worry and vengeance inward. Hastion was coming to, and he would almost certainly need help getting to  _ anyone’s _ rooms, given the sluggish smile that spread across his face, no recognition lighting in his eyes. Well, it seemed like the royal couple was to be his trip sitters tonight. Fun. If she squinted, Malaidor could pretend she was a teenager again.


	20. 1-15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Hastion's trip may be fun to him, the King and Queen definitely didn't plan to be trip sitters tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah ik its late sorry, i've just been really, really exhausted recently. next few arcs are going to have double interludes though, so if anything's a bit late, that's why lol

“He needs to lay down in a proper bed.” Galengar heard his wife speak from miles away, though she was sitting right beside him. “Leaving him like this isn’t feasible.”

He couldn’t muster the energy to acknowledge. This was his fault. He did this. His undeserved status—his foolish, foolish inattentiveness had resulted in this. If Hastion could ever forgive him, it would be undeserved. In his haste, his desire to please Malaidor and be a model king, his guard had gotten hurt from a poison no doubt meant for him.

Distantly, he felt himself nodding along as the doctor explained his captain’s condition. A bad reaction to several drugs, the composition unknown. Hastion wasn’t in any danger of dying—so long as he wasn’t given anything else. That he hadn’t eaten before the party, anticipating a big meal afterwards, had done him no favors, the high only more severe. He was to lie down under supervision for a few hours and, if the high didn’t subside by morning, he would be given further medication. As his body metabolized the dose, he would become more lucid, though still quite out of it for several days.

The dwarven doctor took Hastion’s pulse, listened to his lungs, shone a light into his eyes. She pricked a finger to a minor flinch from him, complaints less words and more distorted syllables, unable to understand what was going on. His pupils had blown wide, eyes blinking open like glassy, disoriented moons.

Galengar’s stomach roiled, his meager lunch threatening to make a reappearance. What an image that would make, the king throwing up because he was outed and his guard drugged. Wonderful. Such a brave king, one who didn’t even cry in front of all the noble houses. Biting his cheek so hard it bled, he fortified himself. Mor would help. She would make everything better, and he wouldn’t have to worry about this anymore. She would make sure no one ever bothered him about this, at least, not to his face. It might have been a childish thought, but it soothed him some.

Now, though, she was giving him an odd look, face concerned. “Gal.”

He glanced at her, holding Hastion’s hand to hide how badly his was trembling.

“As you once said to me: keep your shit together.” Her expression was serious, gloved hands checking where Hastion had hit his head for any lumps, a quickly hidden tremor in her fingers. She looked like she was about to cry. “Now isn’t the time to freak out. There’s going to be time for that, but he needs us both to be on our A-game right now.” To the doctor, she continued, “Captain Erro’ar can rest in our rooms; we will call you if there's any change.”

Doctor Lend hummed in acknowledgement, handing Malaidor some test kits. “Then could you get these to me when he’s situated? He should come around within a few minutes. Judging from what physiological symptoms I’m seeing, he’s fine, if rather disoriented. He might not remember where he is, or who you are, so please do not hold this against him. Very few people would want to take something like this on an empty stomach—fewer still during a minor party, so please handle him with care. He may be your captain, but he will be psychologically fragile for about a week after this. I recommend using up some of his sick days. The Lord of Perpetual Light knows Captain Erro’ar has plenty.”

“Of course, thank you.” His wife did her best to portray her gratitude, though it came out closer to a tight-lipped smile. Understandable, given the stress she was under.

Galengar had done that, too. He was the reason his wife lost sleep at night, worrying that she had missed some incriminating document, and he had come along and fucked her efforts right up. Emotions plain on his sleeve, an ill-timed glance had given him away. How many people had already known, but had simply been too polite to scream it from the rooftops?

Too soon—far too soon, Doctor Lend was leaving. No concussion, no overdose, just a bad trip. He would be fine with the two of them, the doctor had assured them, they had some limited experience with these things. Right. They did. And if Hastion died, it would be their fault.

“He isn’t going to die.” Malaidor said at the same time Galengar realized he had mouthed the last bit.

Damn her and her uncanny ability to understand him.

‘What if—’

“He isn’t.” She interrupted. “He isn’t, and if you keep thinking about that, you’re going to have a panic attack. I can’t take care of both of you, so please,” her voice cracked, and she took a ragged breath, “please just keep your shit together for three hours, and then we can deal with everything else, alright?”

Biting back frustration and tears, Galengar nodded. Fine. Everything was fine. He was protected on the throne and, even if he wasn’t, no one was going to attack him and risk his wife’s ire. The last shred of blackmail they could possibly have on him had been played, and nothing had happened with the major players of his life. Neither Graeus nor Nadja had reacted with overt revulsion, and his wife had known for years now. No one could stand against him without putting themselves in the Oridion’s crossfires.

Secure. He was in a secure position, and he needed to help his guard, rather than sit around, waiting for an execution that wasn’t coming.

As Hastion came to, Galengar steadied himself, preparing for anything. His guard had never been one to volunteer information on his past, and Gal couldn’t blame him. They had all done desperate things under Essren, and he could judge others least of everyone. With any luck, though, Hastion wouldn’t feel too ashamed of this when he regained his faculties.

A smile crossed his guard’s lips as he tried to sit up, his body complying, though uncoordinated and slow. Confusion filled his face as his hand slipped and he was caught by Galengar and Mor, struggling to right himself.

Laughing as the two of them helped prop him up, he let his head loll slightly. “Must have had a bit too much, sorry.”

The lack of formality was… not a good sign. It was markedly different from his usual altered states, brought on by fear or exhaustion, when he slipped into a tentative, on-edge informality at their request. This, though? He was joking and giggling in an artificial manner, as if this was what he had been taught to do. It ruffled Galengar’s feathers, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end. Hastion wasn’t a Reikyani graduate, that was clear enough. Those in the camps had a different air about them than this. He should know, after all.

Still, the feeling of familiarity didn’t wane as Hastion tried and failed to focus his eyes on them, a smile meant to be seductive replacing the original amused one. Malaidor frowned at that, but helped him sit anyway, keeping a close eye on his breathing.

“Sorry to be so out of sorts.” Hastion was saying, his muscles loose, the tension drained from him, for once. This wasn’t how Galengar intended to get him to finally relax. “Why don’t we head to somewhere with a softer floor?” His hand patted the tile clumsily.

With a hum, Mor nodded. “That’s a good idea, thank you, Hastion.”

He beamed and heaved himself up, only to fall back down the second his arms shook. Exchanging a concerned look, Gal and Mor helped him—more carrying the man than anything else. Galengar tucked himself under one arm as Hastion got his feet under him, stumbling as he swayed in place. Not a good sign, but at least he wasn’t too heavy. For the first time in a very, very long time, he was thankful for his training before his wife led her coup. Without it, Gal would have crumpled under his weight.

With a quiet huff, he shifted position as Hastion’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, expression screwed up in concentration as he attempted to regain control of himself.

“I’ll get some neutralizers for… everything.” Malaidor was saying, hands outstretched to catch either of them should they fall. “Unless you’d like some help with him.”

Shaking his head, Galengar rested one hand on his guard’s waist, more to help keep him from swaying and toppling over than anything else. He signed with his free one, a careful eye on the man. ‘I have him. We can let him rest in your rooms—no one would bother him besides us, and they’re the biggest. Could you pick up some pajamas? I don’t know if you should just take his or borrow mine or…’

He bit his lip, giving his guard a once over. Too tall for any of Galengar’s clothes, and too short for Malaidor’s, dressing him would pose a challenge. Few people would want to sleep in a dress uniform, of all things. Still, his wife gave him a curt nod and a tense look that could have been a smile. She didn’t say goodbye, but she never did. Goodbyes tended to be rather permanent between them, and that certainly wasn’t something either of them wanted.

And then, he was alone with a wasted guard who might not remember how to sign. Wonderful. He was still the better choice than Malaidor, who wouldn’t even be able to touch the man without an adverse reaction. Well, it wasn’t as if Hastion aimed for conversation, anyway, repeating his slurred mumblings to himself without need for a partner.

It was… kind of cute, the way he spoke to himself as if trying to convince someone. A far cry from his usual poised, carefully chosen actions, it made him seem more comfortable in his skin, younger even. Though Gal couldn’t make out everything, most of those musings stemmed from a similar source: admiring the palace around him like it was a noble manor, complimenting his king on anything he could think of, and apologizing for how turned around he was. That made the transportation process easier, the adorable, near nonsensical trains of thought derailing and replaced with similarly confused trains.

Moving through the halls with a thoroughly inebriated grown man was not easy at the best of times but, when that man clung to you like you were the love of his life… it certainly didn’t expedite the process. Hastion’s arms tangled around his king, made clumsy with whatever drugs ran through his veins. At least he seemed to be having a nice time, head lolling against his charge’s shoulder as he stumbled on, too heavy for Galengar to comfortably lift.

Guilt ran through him like a river. Despite what Malaidor would tell him later, this was his fault, simple as that. Had the perpetrator assumed he would have an extremely negative reaction to Hastion being uninhibited and clearly unwell? Was he meant to call for his head for daring to accidentally be intoxicated on the job?

Giggling, Hastion nuzzled his neck. A Northern accent bled into his words, vowels stretched and consonants just a tad crisper. “Thanks for helping me out.”

‘It’s quite alright.’ Galengar couldn’t help smiling as the elf focused on his hands, brow furrowed in concentration. ‘Let’s just get you laying down, right?’

Letting out a noise of assent, Hastion attempted to straighten and nearly fell over in the process. Galengar stabilized him, though that did little to dissuade him. With sluggish, staggered steps, he forged the path ahead, glancing around like his surroundings were a foreign land. Guards passing by stared openly, watching their commander make a fool of himself despite his king’s best efforts, stumbling into walls before eventually giving up, sighing against Galengar’s shoulders.

“I… think I’m lost.” The trill of laughter that dripped from his mouth came artificially alluring. “You have a lovely house.”

A breathy chuckle left Galengar’s lips. ‘Thank you, though I wasn’t the one to decorate much. So much work, so little time.’

He nodded, clumsy and solemn. “Well, thank you for making time for me.”

‘Of course. I will always have time for you.’

Hastion blushed freely at that, his hand wandering to Galengar’s waist, fingers knotting in his jacket. Tugging him along, Gal brought him to the royal bedchambers without too much issue. Attendants shot Hastion sympathetic looks, taking in his woefully inebriated state and assuming what was about to happen. No doubt there would be all sorts of creams and ointments waiting for him in his room, bathroom restocked before Galengar could right their assumptions.

Stumbling through the door, Hastion looked around as if this were his first time here. He mumbled little slurred things about his surroundings, gasping with pure joy when Galengar led him to the bedroom. With an almost childish glee, he stared at the bed, mouth a perfect ‘o’ of shock.

“That bed is giant!” He patted his king on the shoulder, pointing like he could possibly miss it. “It's probably the biggest bed I’ve ever seen! How do you not get lost? Is it soft?”

A smile, despite how concerning it was that his guard didn’t seem to remember much of the last few months, graced Galengar’s face. ‘It is, and most of the time, you can just roll off of one side and you get out just fine. Would you like to lay on it?’

That surprised, giddy expression turned on him, so excited that he practically glowed. Had Hastion been slightly less fucked up, he likely would have bounced on his toes and let out all manner of happy pleads and platitudes. Now though, in the state he was in, he bumped his head against Galengar’s before gracelessly falling into the pillows and sheets, trying and failing to kick off his laced-up boots. Rolling onto his back, his face—normally stoic and professional—had twisted into concentration as he sat up and grabbed at the strings with uncooperative hands.

He only succeeded in making the knots tighter, his struggles increasing as a note of panic entered him. With a fond sigh, Galengar knelt in front of him, undoing the laces and tugging the shoe off, repeating the same on Hastion’s other foot. Helping as best he could, the other man unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged it off when he could only get halfway down, throwing it. It landed in a rumpled pile on the floor, discarded without a second thought.

‘Don’t like the jacket?’ Gal joked, rising to get it. It wouldn’t do to have the thing form wrinkles, Hastion would destroy himself with the shame.

“It’s hot.” He whined, letting his head thump back down against the comforter as his king draped his jacket over his queen’s desk chair.

With a steadying breath, Gal stripped out of his own dress jacket, draping it over Mor’s desk. She’d forgive him, if she found this an offense to forgive in the first place. Keeping it together. Gal was keeping it together and doing a great job at that. He could sob into his wife’s arms later. Right now, he was in charge of his guard and partner. Hah. This was definitely how Hastion imagined their first date to go. A small smile lingered on his face as he sat down on the bed beside him, kicking off his own shoes.

Patting his guard’s back, Galengar did his best to be soothing. His efforts fell rather flat as the guard continued to utter nonsense syllables into the fabric, mumbling something that was lost in the soft bed. Gal waited patiently for him to repeat it, preferably to lift his head so he could respond but, before he could do so, though, the door opened and Malaidor breezed in like a woman beset on all sides by demons and nightmares.

Her arms were heavy with clothing and medications, most over the counter, rather than prescriptions, for a hangover. Gal lifted an eyebrow at her at the same time Hastion looked up, his eyes widening with shock and awe.

While ordinarily Galengar could agree with such a reaction to his wife, it was a bit out of place now. She didn’t look regal in this moment, just frazzled and worried, a crease working its way between her brows. Her hair had started to come out of its perfect coiffure and her clothes were on their way to disarray, not prepared for such rushing to and fro, collecting items. It was so unbecoming of a queen, after all, to care for her subjects and staff like this.

Instead, Hastion gazed upon her like one would admire an old god, ready to smite down those who opposed them. He looked like he had half a mind to fall to his knees and beg for her blessing, forgiveness, and honor, whichever she felt in the mood to grant first. Not even the populace looked at her like that, Essren burned too fresh in their minds to willingly submit to every whim of a monarch.

“Are you a princess?” Their captain slurred, lips parted in awe.

For all Malaidor could bite back a laugh, Gal couldn’t resist the snort that tore out of him. Covering his mouth with a hand, he tried to get himself under control as he giggled silently, grin widening behind his palm. His helpless laughter made it hard for Malaidor to keep herself in check, he could see it in the baleful look she shot him.

Princess.

What world did Hastion think he was living in? There hadn’t been a princess in Galailan for centuries—at least six, if memory served—and not a single nation around them was a monarchy. To find a princess, either in royalty or as the ruler of her own princessdom, one would have to make their way out to the Havi’an archipelago, month’s travel at minimum. Something in his gut told him Hastion hadn’t crossed the continent, especially with the challenge of Essren’s closed borders.

“No, dear. I’m just here to help.” Malaidor’s voice was smooth as she set her assorted items down on the coffee table in the corner, sorting out what needed to be done first.

As she folded and put aside the clothing, Gal could see her do the same with the bulk of the medication. They would help his guard in the morning. Alcohol, mixed with mild fasting and the drugs in his system did not bode well for an easy morn. Doctor Lend was right, the two of them would likely be calling him out sick; not an issue considering the damnable man hadn’t used a single sick day in the nearly two years he had been in the palace’s employ. Only the testing strips were left for the present, along with something to give him, should he have a delayed reaction to the intoxicants.

With quick signs, Malaidor asked Galengar to roll over his guard, opting not to speak in favor of reading the labels on the kits. It was odd, how she found it easier to sign than speak while reading. For Galengar it was much the opposite. Something to ask the scholars about, should they have the chance.

Hastion obliged him easily, even sitting up on the bed once prompted, though his swaying persuaded Galengar to help hold his shoulders steady. A clumsy hand patted him on the arm, as if he were trying to explain that he didn’t need help.

“I think she’s really a princess.” He whispered to him conspiratorially, though, despite his best efforts, his volume was enough to carry it to Mor’s ears. “But it’s okay, I can keep a secret.”

Gal gave him a fond smile. ‘Of course, Hastion.’

A cloud passed over his expression. “How do you…”

Galengar didn’t have time to mull that thought over before his wife was upon them, a gloved hand touching the top of his head to mark her presence. She did that sometimes, little aborted touches, as if to let him know where she was. It was very endearing, even if it distracted him at times.

“You gave it to us.” Her smile, slight as it was, held some cheer. “We all exchanged names, don’t you remember?”

Unabashed by his would-be rudeness, Hastion shook his head, still awestruck.

“Would you like me to fill you in, then?” He nodded as she prepared some of the test kits, handing the excess to Galengar. “I am Melli, and this is Shatter; it’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

While Hastion repeated the names to himself like he was trying to memorize them, Gal shot his wife a hard look. There was no need to dig up those names, especially if he didn’t remember who they were or why. Using their Solaquen names here could only pose danger to them all. If the Thornling gained enough power to see into other planes… no one they knew, never mind loved, would be safe. That demon in the suit of a man was already a nightmare to deal with, and who knew if they had just put a target on Hastion’s back. Hopefully, those names would be forgotten in the morning.

With a quick frown his way, meaning clear, Malaidor conveyed just how much she didn’t want to test the delirium Hastion was in. She had a point, even if her execution left things to be desired. For him to realize who they were and default to his usual overly formal state would only pose a more difficult challenge to them as he refused to address things that bothered him. Then again, any other names would have served the same purpose.

A silent promise to make it up to him smoothed out the worst of his unhappiness, though. His wife knew the issues it caused, and she would fix it. She would always fix it. Maybe she was a god and that was why she was more devout than him, a god come down to Idran to mess with him. Her modus operandi? Fixing the unfixable and setting things right. Precious little would change about her with the addition of divinity, maybe her hair would be paler, or her skin a shade closer to porcelain and cold to the touch, but most would stay the same. His wife, in all her impossible grace and beauty.

Her Holiness, at the moment, was lifting her hand to hold his guard’s face steady with the same slow, easy motions one would use with a dog that didn’t yet know it was about to be forced to swallow a pill. The mental image almost sent Galengar giggling again, but he was able to tamp down his mirth into a more professional expression.

“Hastion, dear, could you open your mouth for me?” Malaidor asked, voice as friendly and soft as she could get it.

His eyes were round with admiration as he nodded, opening his mouth wide and sticking his tongue out slightly like he expected someone to shove something in. As he watched his queen’s face expectantly, Hastion shifted to look appealing. Despite a suppressed frown, Malaidor held his cheek steady, guiding him into a better position for her purposes. He moved with her hand obediently, not even blinking as she swabbed the inside of his cheek with a practiced hand. She handed the samples to Galengar to test. With things like this, it was far better to be safe than sorry.

The little glass beads in the kit tubes would either glow or stay dull in the presence of a specific class of drug. Far less invasive and terrifying than sitting him down for a blood test, this would help them all get a better idea of what he had ingested.

Galengar’s worry only grew as more and more beads lit up when they came into contact with the samples. Malaidor was finished with his guard soon enough, and with the last kit tested, she drew back with a fond final stroke to his cheekbone. The poor thing whined, trailing after her hand, confused and concerned, mouth still open.

“You can close your mouth now, thank you. You were very good.” Patting the top of his head, Malaidor glanced at her husband, only to have her attention tugged back as Hastion spoke.

“Did I do something wrong?”

She blinked, formulating the best answer. “No, dear. You did wonderfully. Would you like a reward for your troubles?” At his eager nod, she gave him a tight smile. “Alright then, what would you like?”

His stare, blank and unprepared, broke Galengar’s heart. Wherever Hastion was, he hoped he would never have to suffer that again, the basic question of desire so inconceivable as to warrant deep thought. Blush only deepening, Hastion cast his eyes down, suddenly shy and demure. His shoulders fell, body moving in a surprisingly adept sinuous line, seduction burned into his muscle memory. It left an acrid taste in Galengar’s mind, no matter how much he assured himself that Hastion hadn’t been in a kyani. Just taught by one, judging from the way his intoxicated self moved.

“I would like to please you, Lord.” He all but crooned, lips slightly parted.

Some sympathy burned in Malaidor’s expression as she held herself back. “Then why don’t you get some rest, then? Gal and I just need to figure out something, but we’ll be back soon.”

With a slow blink, Hastion just kept staring at her like she was the moon, Istillin come down to chase her lover around the sky. Well, that made Galengar the Dogstar, then. Before he could come to terms with the logistics of that scenario, she was at his side, looking over his work with a sharp eye.

‘I would hesitate to call this good.’ He started, motioning to a few of the vials. ‘Alcohol, but we knew that already. A muscle relaxant, but with how dim the beads are, I wouldn’t worry overmuch about an overdose, a deliriant, and two anxiolytics. I’m honestly surprised he’s still able to talk and walk.’

“Nothing that would affect him… in that way?” She jerked her to Hastion, who had elected to lay on his stomach and trace the pattern on the bedspread, though his flush continued to spread up his ears.

Frowning, Galengar consulted what little information he had. ‘I don’t know. The deliriant maybe, or the alcohol, but unless I know exactly what he was slipped, I don’t know Mor.’

“He still doesn’t seem to recognize us, if that’s any consolation.”

Gal glanced up at her. ‘That makes it worse. I’m not about to snoop through his personal records but…’

His wife bit the inside of her cheek, a habit she’d gained from him. “He was rather knowledgeable about the brothel-bars that we shut down.”

Stomach churning unpleasantly, Galengar regretted taking a few hors d'oeuvres at the start of the party. Those places weren’t exactly known for their exemplary employment, most paid only enough to get food, housing if they went above and beyond in their duties. Few provided sufficient protection for their employees, fewer still for those performing their job off the clock. More and more things clicked into place, Hastion’s fixation around how his king wanted to take him, his worry over perfection and his appearance, his fearful glances whenever Malaidor was near.

‘You don’t think…’

Mor didn’t finish his statement, her silence ringing out loud and clear. As they put the kits away, their attention turned back to the man in their bed, pity mixing with worry. That would be a conversation for when he was sober, not now. Especially not now.

“Can you do me a favor?” Hastion’s words were breathy as he leaned forward and nearly fell, blessedly remaining over the bed.

Glancing back at him, Galengar resisted the urge to blush, fighting down the heat in his face. He had sprawled out on his stomach, chest resting on the comforter and ass in the air. His hair was a mess, sticking up like he had run his fingers through it. A sliver of his back had been exposed as his shirt and undershirt both rode up, pooling beneath him. Hips swaying in the air in a drunken approximation of tantalizing, his face heavily flushed. Peeking up from the pillow of his arms, Hastion spread his legs more.

He swallowed, steadying his hands. ‘Of course, Hastion. What is it?’

“When you fuck me, can you also spank me? Please?”

The flinch that ran through him trailed sparks of numb nothing in its wake. Miniscule icebergs drifted along in his veins, carrying memories better left undisturbed along with them. He was going to be sick, he was going to lock himself in the bathroom, he was… he was going to take a deep breath and refrain from having a panic attack.

Steadying himself, Galengar lent Hastion a soothing smile. ‘Not tonight; I don’t think either of us are ready for that at this moment.’

Hastion let out a groan, rolling over onto his back and letting his legs splay out, more out of comfort than arousal. His eyes were still slow, motions sluggish as he tugged at his collar. A frown settled over his features as he undid the buttons of his dress shirt to reveal a black undershirt and simple belt. It took Galengar a moment to remember not to stare, not to retreat within himself and pretend none of this had ever happened.

This night had to be one of the worst this year. One disaster after the other with no reprieve. Soon enough, he was going to snap and lock himself in the closet, not coming out for anyone. It would be nice—it would be quiet, especially when people gave up on getting him out. He would have time to recover and recuperate, crying silently into his knees until he was ready to face the world again. Maybe his wife would have an issue with that, but he could feel guilty later.

As if reading his thoughts, her hand rested on his shoulder, drawing him out of his head with a flinch. “Don’t do that.”

‘Do what?’ His fingers, traitors that they were, shook as he signed.

“Don’t get lost in your thoughts and make yourself feel worse.” She let out a deep sigh. “I know this isn’t easy for you—it’s not easy for me to see you like this either—but I need you in the here and now, not remembering the kyanis or the palace in the old days. I know I’m not good at being comforting, but I just want to—”

‘Thanks.’ The word came quick to his hands, genuine, nearly too fast to be properly understood. ‘You’re fine at comforting. It’s just that some people don’t like brutal honesty.’

Her eyes drifted to his fingers, rather than his face. “I’m not a fan of being lied to. It’s only respectful.”

With a curt nod, Gal sniffed and straightened. ‘No, you’re right. I can do this. What now, get him to bed?’

“Well…” Malaidor trailed off, eyeing how Hastion had managed to get tangled up in the blankets already. “Closer to getting him ready for bed. We may have an issue actually convincing him to sleep, though.”

‘We could always tell him a story.’ He tried for a tentative smile. ‘The Stone Queen, sitting on her throne of skulls—’

His wife cut him off with a groan. “Please, no. I hear enough of them from the nobles. Why don’t we tell him all about the Sun King and his adventures, burning through the nobility—”

Rolling his eyes, he took one of the shirts—his own, and Malaidor’s sleep pants. Those were likely the best bet, an oversized shirt and pants. As he turned to face Hastion, the man was inches from tumbling off of the bed.

‘Careful.’ He signed, whistling to get his attention. ‘You don’t want to fall off, do you?’

Clumsily, Hastion shook his head and adjusted position.

‘Thought so. Why don’t we get ready for bed? It’s late and I’m sure you’re tired.’

“’M not. I can do whatever you like.” 

Tilting his head, Galengar tried for amused. ‘And if I’d like you to actually sleep? That wouldn’t be too hard, would it?’

He could see his wife covering her hand with a mouth, hiding how funny this all was to her. Her husband, trying to convince his guard that no, he didn’t want to have sex with him, he just wanted him to take a nap in her bed must have been quite entertaining. She folded the blankets and readied the bathroom for them, plucking some bedclothes from her closet. If Gal could remember correctly, he should have a pajama or two forgotten there, so he wouldn’t have to trek all of the five minutes to his own chambers.

“I can sleep.” Hastion was saying. “Shall I open myself for you, then?”

As he tamped down the visceral response that statement elicited in him, Galengar gave him a forcibly friendly smile. ‘No, it’s alright. Just do what you would normally and rest. We can speak more in the morning, if you’d like.’

With a mumbled “okay”, Hastion didn’t hesitate in stripping down, throwing his undershirt over his head. His pants, too, were shed, the offending article falling to the floor. No decorum wove through Hastion’s movements, and, when he had pulled up his undershirt, Galengar couldn’t help but note some scars he had previously missed in the few times the guard had been topless around him.

Hastion had never given him much time to actually look at his body, electing to distract and head under covers before Gal could rake his eyes over him. A slash mark marred the skin of his ribs and a burn in the shape of a hand lurked on his shoulder. They were old wounds, long since healed over and faded, but it still unnerved him. When had Hastion faced an arcanist, one he had let get close enough to pull him back by the shoulder?

And then, Galengar was averting his eyes as Hastion pulled off his underwear like it was nothing at all. Stretching out, he ignored his king’s blush and grabbed the sheets, pulling them over him as he laid back on the cushions. Malaidor, blessedly, held her tongue. That wasn’t to say she didn’t raise a teasing eyebrow at him, a second, odd emotion lurking under her amusement, but she kept quiet about the naked, well-toned man in her bed, one leg hanging off the edge as he smudged his makeup on her pillows. Well, they had made worse messes of her bed, though those had come when the pair had first started out, too tired to take baths and just collapsing onto the nearest horizontal surface, damn their makeup.

“So, he sleeps naked.” A light, joking note wove through her voice. “I would be surprised, but I expected that.”

‘Did you?’ Galengar asked, stripping out of his own outerwear. ‘Or are you just covering your bases and guessing that he was uncomfortable with us before.’

Lifting an eyebrow, she motioned him over to help with her dress. He obliged, freeing her from her formal confines while she spoke. “He never came with bedclothes. He’s been invited to your bed for the past few days, and he always claims to have forgotten sleepwear, going to bed in his boxers and undershirt instead.”

‘He could just be forgetful.’ Gal countered as she watched his motions in the mirror.

She huffed at that. “Then why not bring a set to forget in your room? Or, for that matter, why not get them from his chambers? They aren’t that far away.”

He bit his lip, keeping his hands busy as he undid her hair, setting the barrettes and pins on the desk beside her. It seemed like there was an infinite supply, her long hair hiding enough pins to pick every lock in the palace. Though his wife took his continued silence as a victory, she didn’t gloat. Now and then, her ears would flick when his hands came too close, and he would pull them away, working on a different section before finishing that spot. If there was any meaning in it, he was too tired to ascribe it.

Finishing, he stepped back and yawned, poking his head into the bathroom. ‘I’m tired. Very tired. It’s been a horrible few hours for me, so I hope you don’t mind if I wash up and join our strung-out friend in bed.’

“Be my guest.” Her voice was odd, but Gal had never been one to press.

Galengar closed the door behind him and ran the bath, brushing his teeth with the spare toothbrush his wife kept for him. Gods, he looked awful. His makeup had smeared, making him look like a wannabe teenage punk, if he didn’t look twenty years too old for that life. The stonelight made the lines on his face seem gaunt, dark circles hanging under his eyes.

Spitting and cleaning up, he finished getting undressed, coughing a few times to stretch his chest. With the binding stays off, his ribs ached like they had when he bound his breasts for days on end. Maybe he could ask someone to rub his back. It wouldn’t help, but at least it would be a distraction as the muscles relaxed some and adjusted to being free. None of the servants, though. Even if the cat was out of the bag, it would disquiet him to force someone to treat him like that.

That, or maybe Mor and he could take a vacation. Just for a weekend, to get away from it all. Already, they had set records as the longest a royal had gone without a day off.

His bath was quick, just long enough to rinse the makeup and the smell of the party off of his skin. The water was warm, helped his thoughts keep from wandering. Really, all he wanted was to relax into his wife’s bed and sleep the day away. Maybe he wouldn’t even be woken early tomorrow. It was a vague hope, considering the stack of papers sitting on his desk, all needing his attention, but a man could dream.

His wife came in as he dried himself off and put on his bedclothes, drawing her own bath. He couldn’t complain about that, they were both tired and gross, and there was water to spare. Giving him an exhausted, but affectionate, nod, she cleaned herself while he left and closed the door behind him.

As Galengar got into bed, Hastion, already sound asleep, shifted closer to him, wrapping his body around his. It wasn’t that bad, even if his nude form pressed against him and brought a flush to his king’s cheeks anew. It had been quite a while since Gal bed down with a skyclad person, not since his teenage years, if he could remember correctly. Long ago, he would have been eager, likely woken his partner up in a similar state of intoxication and ridden them until both were panting and begging for more, but now, all he wanted was to rest. Gods, he was getting old.

With a yawn, Gal wrapped an arm around the guard, placing a light kiss against his hair. He didn’t have time to dim the stormlights before his eyes were slipping closed, his partner using his collarbone as a cushion. The pressure was… nice. It soothed him, and with his arms around Hastion, Gal let himself fall asleep to the sound of water running in the other room.


	21. I-5.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our favorite boys have a bit of relationship troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a long a/n here but 1. happy new year! 2. i've just been exposed to covid, so if things are a bit late, that's why. i'll do my best not to get sick, but i dont have the best track record with that ^^"a on the bright side, though, i have a few side projects lined up for this month! as always, feel free to hmu if you'd like to talk~
> 
> also! next interlude is the end of this arc! very exciting times!

Hekion resisted a grimace as the carriage swayed along the roads, taking him to the Kadrios estate. This journey hadn’t been his choice, not in the slightest. Theolin thought it best for their families to gather after such an… eventful dinner— he had called for the transportation himself, waving away Hekion’s weak excuses with a steady hand. In Hekion’s opinion, this was a mistake. This was  _ more _ than a mistake. By doing this, it showed that no, they hadn’t just taken each other to the party as an act of support. There was something deeper going on, and it would be all the more difficult to disentangle themselves from the rumors.

As much as he wanted to sit up and ask Theolin to turn the carriage around, there would be no way to live that down, going back on his word like it meant nothing at all. His family was going to be there, too, so what purpose did Hekion have in sitting in an empty house, rather than joining the Kadrioses for an after-party drink.

His mother had already accepted for him anyway, encouraging him to join Theolin as the heads of the families rode ahead of the pair, no doubt starting their talks early. He would glean precious little from listening at the door, praying that someone would say something incriminating or interesting enough for him to capitalize on. Nadja always complained about her workload, so reducing it might help gain her favor after their last conversation.

She had been so cross when he revealed his plans and just how much he had fucked up. Hekion resisted the urge to cringe as he remembered the way she had raged at him, did her best to neuter her words to do less damage. It had been cleansing, of a sort. Far preferable to the silent fuming soon to come, his mother’s explosive, transparent frustration soothed his guilt somewhat.

“Stay with Theolin,” she had instructed him. “Stay with Theolin and don’t do anything else stupid, so help me Gods.”

He could do that. Nothing stupid.

Swallowing, Hekion bit his lip and let himself be daring. His fingers trailed along the plush carriage seat until they found Theolin’s, looping their pinkies together. The Elven man beside him turned around with a purposeful slowness, a look of heart-crushing hopefulness in his eyes. How could Hekion say ‘no’ to that? The eagerness with which he looked at him, the first time his supposed partner had initiated some kind of non-sexual affection.

As Hekion turned, readying himself to say something, his partner trapped his lips in his. Theolin’s hand shifted to lace their fingers together, while the other found Hekion’s cheek, holding him steady as he laved chaste, loving kisses onto his lips, his jawline, the corners of his mouth.

“It’s alright,” he smiled at him, those sharp, tired eyes holding Hekion fast to his seat like a pin through a moth. “No one’s here, you’re allowed to be with me.”

Well, the carriage driver was there, but he didn’t think it would be a bright idea to voice that concern. Theolin might ask the man to leave, park the carriage on the side of the road as they had their way with each other. Objectively, that was the worse scenario and almost certainly fell under the “something else stupid” that his mother had asked him to avoid.

A blush graced his cheeks, turning his verdant skin darker. “I-I—”

Theolin’s gentle, easy smile made his heart stutter in his chest, arresting any chance of a coherent sentence. Guileless, he trusted Hekion so completely. Not a single thought of betrayal crossed his mind, not a shred of it. It… it made Hekion’s stomach turn with guilt, even as the warmth of his partner’s lips lingered on his. Creator, did this man know how addictive he was, how much Hekion found himself striving for that wondrous, healing forgiveness?

“Absolve me.” He murmured, too low to be heard over the clattering of the carriage, cutting himself off with a kiss. The words were for him and him alone. “For I have done a great wrong.”

His elf grinned against him, obliging him with ease. Taking the initiative into his own hands, Theolin slid into Hekion’s lap, a firm, grounding weight. As Theolin looped his arms around his neck, he let his hands rest on Theolin’s narrow waist. A frown passed across his face. Even through the man’s clothing, he could feel the bones of his hips jutting out, straining against his smooth skin.

Breaking the kiss, he rubbed little circles into his partner’s waist. “Theolin…”

That grin faded like a candle extinguished. Clever eyes flicked away, studying the wall like it was the most important thing he had ever seen. Where a light flush had graced his cheeks, only nausea remained. Oh, how easily Theolin wore his emotions, especially with Hekion. It left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

“I’m fine. You know that.” Not a trace of his cheerful teasing remained, supplanted with terse frustration.

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask—”

“It was.” He cut him off with a snap—a  _ snap _ . Hekion couldn’t be sure the last time Theolin had reprimanded someone, let alone snapped. “You were going to ask if I was okay, I would say that yes, I was, you weren’t going to take that as an answer, and neither of us would end up happy. Can we just cut to the chase? I’m sick of having the same unproductive conversation over and over.”

Hekion’s mouth shut as he thought over an appropriate response to that. While he  _ was _ right in a way, it wasn’t that Hekion would refuse the answer given. He would be concerned, yes, and he would ask again in the hope Theolin would actually tell him what was wrong, but ultimately accept his silence. That he would have such a strong reaction to this…

“I was going to ask if you had eaten today.” Voice smooth and sympathetic, he ran his hands up Theolin’s sides.

That, evidently, was the wrong move.

Theolin pulled back, taking a seat across from Hekion, yet more frustration etched into the lines of his face. The space around them seemed even more cramped in the ensuing silence, the plush cushion beside Hekion woefully empty as his partner brushed aside the pale grey curtains covering the windows to watch the streets pass him by, a cold look in his eye. Had tonight truly been that horrible?

After a long moment, Theolin sighed. “Sorry. I’m acting immature.” He rubbed at one eye with his palm, uncaring about whether or not he smudged his makeup. “Everyone I speak with asks that nowadays. Yes, I ate today. No, I’m not hungry. Can we  _ please _ talk about something other than my weight?”

“Of course.” The words were out of his mouth before Hekion could think to stop them. “We can talk about whatever you want.”

Biting his lip, his partner assessed him. That gaze pierced him, stripping his soul and laying it bare before Theolin. He knew. He had to know. Theolin was many things, kind, generous, a stellar lover, but stupid was not one of them.

“Then could you tell me why you’re acting like you’re off to your own execution?”

Mouth dry, Hekion tried for a nonchalant chuckle. “Am I not allowed to be nervous about meeting your parents—” his heart skipped a beat at his mistake, “parent. I’m sorry, your parent.”

Theolin let out a soft chuckle. “You’ve already met my father countless times.”

“Not like this! Not as…” Trailing off, Hekion let a blush come to his cheeks.

His partner laughed at that, a rough thing instead of the poised polished one he reserved for the court. “I think my father can accept my  _ boyfriend _ . I’m only seventy years, perfectly adult.”

“Even if your boyfriend happens to be someone like me?”

Theolin’s soft smile was all fondness. “Even if. You’ll be alright, I promise. Plus, don’t forget that you’re still a Seli’in. There isn’t much my father can say that wouldn’t turn your mother into a pillar of flame and rage.”

A shudder ran through him. As much as his mother tried to shield him from her temper, working through her reliance on the drink and speaking with therapists, there had been times where he could hear her lambasting a poor noble, the picture of righteous fury. His father didn’t fear her, not even after witnessing these events firsthand, an incredible display of trust. Well, he supposed, it wasn’t as if his father had many options to leave to begin with.

Hekion would just have to trust them, trust them all. The feeling didn’t come easily to him, suspicion drilled in after time spent with the scholars, the proper children of Elven families staring at him like a zoo animal out of a cage. When the instructors had kicked up a fuss, though, turning his mother’s ire on them had been quite the satisfying sport.

“Thank you.” His mumble was nearly lost in the din. “You don’t need to do all this for me. I’m not going to fall apart just because I said the wrong thing.”

Crossing his legs at the ankle, Theolin rested an elbow on the windowsill. “It appears I do. Don’t you worry, though. I do so love taking care of you, and I haven’t found anything yet to bar you from my forgiveness.”

It was all Hekion could do to duck his head away from that loving, confident smile. “You’ll spoil me rotten.”

“You deserve to be spoiled.”

Fresh guilt washed through him. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep lying to this man, even as he soothed him without a second thought. Theolin deserved to know the truth—their relationship would grow stronger, in the face of this adversity. It would help them both, alleviate Hekion’s torment and smooth out any doubts Theolin had about his love. This outreach of trust was—

It was stupid, was what it was. It was a fool’s thought, and he would be an idiot to try and talk himself into it. How he expected himself to think rationally, though, he didn’t know. All he could do was try and live with himself, responding to his partner’s worries and placations with nonchalant answers. For all Theolin wanted to help, there was little he could do in this department. Perhaps when they were older, smarter, stronger, even, but not now. Not with the way he worried himself into missing meals, citing work or family obligations.

“You’re too sweet to me, did you know that?” Leaning forward, he invaded Theolin’s personal space some.

The man let him, returning the gesture. Their faces were mere inches apart, a wry smile slipping onto his partner’s face. “I think you’d might like to make it up to me for being so rude before.”

“Was I rude?” Came the droll response. “Time to kick me out of the city, then.”

A snort, undignified and trusting, sounded from Theolin as he ducked his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Maybe I will, you never know. I might just have a mean streak.”

The look in his eyes made Hekion’s mouth dry up. That promise… no. He couldn’t think of that.

“I-uh…” He said instead, woefully ineloquent.

Those giggles were like an ambrosia. “Don’t worry, I’ll ask you first. Maybe later, if you’d like to stay over at my manor.”

It took everything in him not to blush at that suggestive smile, his partner all charm in a way he just  _ knew _ drove Hekion to sin. Surely, it couldn’t hurt to say a tentative yes, to insist that he couldn’t stay the whole night. What harm could come from that now, when their families both knew, even if they tried their best to look the other way?

“I wouldn’t be opposed.” Theolin’s smile was infectious, bringing one to his own face. “But I’m still not sure how long I’ll be able to stay.”

“We can discuss that later. For now, we still have ten minutes before we arrive.” Tucking a suspiciously stray lock of hair behind his ear, Theolin made bedroom eyes at him. “How would you feel about rocking the carriage until then?”

Stuttering out an affirmative, Hekion only felt more embarrassed at how his face heated up. His partner didn’t seem to care at his indiscretion, though, not as he slid into his lap. Deft fingers toyed with his hair, doing what they could to knock it from its precarious style. That would be telling—as if their families couldn’t tell already. Hiding the hickeys he had been gifted had not been easy.

Theolin tipped his half-orc’s face up, gaze piercing through any shields he had foolishly bothered to put up, as if Theolin could read the words of his soul laid bare before him, spot the intricate lies Hekion had woven about himself to wear like a cloak. Still, he kissed him. No, kissing was too light a word. Theolin took him apart with the exactness of a surgeon, sliding down to straddle Hekion once more, if only for the better angle. Oh, how Theolin loved this position, Theolin and Hekion both.

Like this, Hekion was the high priest of an old god, his master sat astride him, willingly letting him run his undeserving hands up and down his sides, pressing his lips against his. His elf ignored the nubs of his tusks, accommodated the way his mouth moved ever so slightly differently from an elf’s, accepted the feeling of overly strong fingers on his thighs, desperately holding on as his lover, slowly and methodically, tore down every wall he had built. When Theolin sighed into him, a pleased, content sound, Hekion could feel his heart skip a beat, chest aching for want of him.

Now wasn’t the time for anything more—especially with how much time they had wasted with speaking, rather than… other things… and Hekion was coming to regret that. All he wanted to do was bend his boyfriend over the overly plush seat and make those gorgeous moans flow out of him like water through a river valley in the thaw months.

He could taste him, the bit of champagne he had imbibed in, still on his lips. Those perfect hands wandered down his chest and back up again, ending their long journey on his cheeks, thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones, as if that tenderness would knit the fragments of his psyche back together.

With a faint hum Hekion more felt than heard, Theolin pulled away. “We’re nearly here, so compose yourself.”

Ten minutes had passed so carelessly with his partner’s tongue in his mouth like sand through an hourglass. Fuck.

Nodding, Hekion set to putting himself in order, even as Theolin sent him an amused look at how he fussed over the both of them. Seli’ins were expected to have flings while the Kadrioses were more stoic, playing their cards close to their chest. Oh, how they bent tradition between themselves, the pursuing and the pursued.

Much too soon, the carriage pulled up to the Kadrios estate, transition made clear as the sound of cobblestones was replaced with smooth, well-kept pavement. Manicured gardens graced the outside, the air thick with the smell of flowers and cut grass. There was constantly a new project in the works, courtesy of Theolin’s aunt. Liana Kadrios could never leave the garden be, chasing her big dreams with the help of the gardeners.

Rumor had it that she had gone so far as to hire an arcanist for the upkeep and, from what he had picked up from Theolin about the Kadrioses, he wasn’t sure if they were just rumors. At least he could be sure she didn’t know the proposed arcanist in a more intimate fashion. The newest gossip had done well to ensure everyone knew he was a half-elf, though clipped and living with his Elven family, giving him the barest modicum of respectability. Well, Hekion was in a similar boat.

The outer façade of the house belied some of its majesty, the white marble interspersed with deep red veins of rubies and garnets. It had been mined millennia ago from a quarry that no longer existed, swallowed up by the shores of the Grand Lake out west so many decades ago. The Kadrios estate was among a handful of buildings that could boast such exquisite, rare stone, so vivid as to glimmer and glitter like stars in the moonlight. Apparently, it was a bitch to clean and care for, though, the pollen getting in every little crack and crevice in the summer months.

As they pulled up to the grand entrance, a footman opened the carriage door for them, offering his hand as they stepped out. Theolin obliged with enviable grace as always, while Hekion was forced to lean more weight on the footman than strictly necessary, though the man didn’t seem to mind. Their parents’ carriage had arrived before them, and their patriarch and matriarch had evidently gone inside, eager to socialize, deftly avoiding the… incident that had happened tonight. It would be quite rude to discuss it, especially considering it was their royal family who had been so thoroughly wronged.

To reveal something of such a sensitive manner… it made Hekion sick. For all his confusion as to why King Galengar had allowed the noble families to complain of the Queen’s eagerness to do away with the old social mores in his presence, this simply wasn’t information one offered up before the person in question was ready. Considering how recently the kyanis had closed and the King’s age, it was likely still a sensitive matter—perfectly understandable, given the circumstances. It was a miracle that King Galengar could rule so effectively, all things considered.

Judging from Queen Malaidor’s reaction, she already knew—though, how could she not? She had accepted him in a heartbeat, that much was clear. For all the Queen wore her stony exterior, her love for her husband rang loud. For many, it had been a wakeup call. The royal family was not going to be divided, not on this issue, and the Oridions would certainly  _ not _ be tolerating this. With how cross Nadja and Lord Graeus had been, hissing whispers between each other like vipers in a nest, neither would the other dynasties. That was good, the three ruling families showing a united front.

“Hello, Hekion? Are you in there, or have you gone out to the store?” Theolin’s teasing voice rang out in his ear.

He flinched, but turned to face his partner, having wandered into the receiving parlor with him. “My apologies, there has been a lot to think about recently.”

A smile slipped across Theolin’s face, equally fond and sympathetic. “I can imagine. If it’s about…” the pause, the forbidden topic of Lord Terioak. If that man had thought this would buy him any supporters, he found himself sorely mistaken as he spent a night in the dungeons, “then rest assured, my father has no patience for these types of antics. I would be surprised if he didn’t decimate him for something like this.”

With a nod, Hekion did his best to return that affection. “Thank you. I worry sometimes that the dynasties grow further and further apart, but that they all think the same on this matter is hopeful. Economics can be debated until the sun drowns, but I would rather not argue on who deserves personhood and respect.”

“Of course.” Theolin seemed genuinely surprised at the thought that his father wouldn’t support Queen Malaidor’s programs. “How about we have some snacks? I saw the way you were going through that champagne, you know.” Oh, four glasses was  _ not _ that much, especially for a man his size. Hekion was hardly tipsy

In lieu of a response, Hekion simply nodded again, following his partner as he rambled about what dishes were available to graze. At his elf’s behest, he took a small plate, setting some cheese and crackers on it. Theolin imitated him, though there were less snack foods on his. Good. If this enticed him to have a proper meal, then he could live with being encouraged to eat.

Politely, they made small talk with each other’s family members, only close relatives in attendance. Theolin’s aunts were there, along with his remaining uncle, but it appeared that none of his cousins had been invited.

It was madness, idiotic madness, but Hekion couldn’t live another moment like this, with the truth lurking in his throat. Its claws dug into him, scratching, trying to find some semblance of purchase to make its way out of his mouth. He could feel it, waiting for a lapse in self-control to come roaring out, regardless of how appropriate the moment was.

“Theolin,” quietly, Hekion touched his partner’s wrist.

Those gorgeous green eyes turned to him, a sympathetic smile already on his elf’s face. “It’s alright, my father is a reasonable man.”

No. That wasn’t it. Hekion was drifting, a passenger in his own body. Nausea reared its ugly head, and for a brief moment, he worried that his face was turning greener. Could people see his discomfort as clearly as he felt it? Was everyone just waiting for him to break, for him to admit everything? He would never succeed in the royal court. Lies never came to him easily, not like for his mother, for his partner. They had been bred for this life, trained in the art of deception, and here Hekion was, a child straining for a modicum of control over his own limbs.

“I—” He heard himself from a thousand miles away, a tremor in his grip.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother turn, some minutia in her face darkening as she realized what has happening. She could always read people so well, determining things in microseconds, rather than the tedious evaluations he subjected himself to. Her social plays were so much more dignified than his, the path to her victory as clear as the sun shining down through the clouds. It made Hekion’s ambition’s look like a children’s game.

“What is it?” Theolin’s voice was soft, already moving the two of them farther from the public eye. Already, people were noticing. “Can I get you anything? You won’t be thrown out, I promise. Your family will understand, and I can’t see a future where Lord Nadja rejects you over something like this.”

Something like this. Well, it wasn’t Nadja he was worrying about.

“I have something important to tell you.” It came out closer to a whisper. Clearing his throat, Hekion continued on, ignoring the people gathering around them, worried.

He couldn’t look at his face. Theolin’s eyes were round with concern, his hand on Hekion’s bicep, thumb rubbing gentle circles intended to be soothing. Meeting his gaze… that would prove his undoing, Hekion knew that well enough. If he glanced up at that man, the words would dry up in his mouth and his anxiety would overflow.

Soothingly, as if Hekion was about to break down into tears, his partner murmured soothing platitudes. “It can wait, if you need more time.”

Miserable, Hekion shook his head.

“I…” He swallowed, thinking over the right words to say. “I lied to you in the beginning. I love you, I love you very much, but I didn’t when I started this affair.” Theolin’s face fell, seemingly in denial, and it pushed the torrent from Hekion’s lips. “I thought I-I could take advantage of the political situation and ensure that our dynasties wouldn’t be aggressive with each other as the new Queen took power and so…”

Taking a shuddering breath, he realized his heart was beating out a fast tempo in his chest. Could Theolin hear it? Could he feel the way it hammered through him, drowning out his own words? Around them, people had paused midstride, brows drifting together at his words. Theolin’s expression was a mask, entirely unreadable as he took it all in.

Still, Hekion continued. “I thought—I thought it would just be that, an affair, a simple thing, over and done with, but it wasn’t, I stayed and you stayed and you  _ cared _ about me.” A harsh chuckle slipped out of his mouth. “I… I realized I love you. I love you and I never want to leave you.”

Tears pricked at Theolin’s eyes, his mouth set in a grim line. Hekion could see the tension in his jaw, clenched tight enough that the muscles stood out on his cheeks. Around him, their families had broken into quiet muttering, a few people politely excusing themselves while others eyed Hekion with a complex emotion that he didn’t dare name. Instead, all he could do was keep speaking, confessions coming out like a flood.

“I know what I did was wrong, and I can make any amends you want me to. Just say the word, and I’ll do it.” He was babbling now, unable to stop. “I love you, I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I hurt you like this. It wasn’t my intention—”

Something in Theolin snapped at that. That mask slipped for a fraction of a second and Hekion could see the fury of an avenging god behind the waifish man’s eyes. It evaporated his next sentence in the blink of an eye, Hekion struck dumb by the force of his partner’s gaze.

“Evidently,” his voice was harsh as he spoke, those green eyes boring into Hekion’s silver, “you did. You hurt me, regardless of your intentions. You hurt me deeply.”

Before he could think, Hekion sank down to his knees before his elf, fighting back the urge to burst out sobbing, to lean his cheek against his knees until the world was made better again. Theolin was kind, so kind, and so gentle. He was the first person outside of his family to treat Hekion like he was worth something, like he was deserving of love and affection. Nadja and Avram were fond of him because he was their son; Theolin was fond of him because he was  _ Hekion _ .

“I can make amends, please.” A shred of hope still lingered in his words as he bowed his head to him, uncaring of people’s stares. “Let me prove it to you! Please! I can show you how much I love you, I can show you how much I care! I made a mistake—a horrible, stupid mistake; let me fix it.”

Silence stretched between them as Theolin thought. Unable to watch, Hekion glanced at the assorted crowd. Lord Graeus looked like he was about to go mad from rage, only a hand on his shoulder holding him back. His mother, too, was about to blow a gasket. Nadja’s face had gone so far beyond cross that Hekion would have worried she might genuinely burst into flame. His father was no better, exuding a cold, stern anger. Swallowing, he tried not to wilt under the weight of their stares, under the implication of both his parents’ rage.

Little quiet murmurs slipped from his lips, urging Theolin to listen to him, to take him back, to give him even the hint of a chance. If he rejected him… he couldn’t think about that. It wouldn’t be a door slamming shut, no. It would be like sending someone into exile. He would be paralyzed, stunned into inaction.

Kneeling before Theolin, Hekion turned his face up to him, pleading, searching for a trace of mercy, a glimpse at the man he had caught feelings for. His heart sank into his stomach as Theolin regarded him with an uncharacteristic chill, face carefully blank, as if he were trying to decide what words to pick out. This had been the first time the man made himself unreadable, the first time he had closed himself off to Hekion.

It hurt. No, “hurt” was too weak a word. It burned in his chest like a torch, not a hollow ache in his core as his love had previously been, but something fresh and sharp and blinding. Stabbing him would have hurt less—flaying would have been more tolerable than this steady, silent rejection.

And still, that quiet held. Before Hekion’s eyes, Theolin’s expression morphed from unreadable to grief-stricken to devastated, to wrathful. It settled into a steady inferno, dim but pervasive.

“No.”

That single syllable shattered any hope Hekion might have held.

“I’m sorry—” he started, feeling tears prickling at his eyes, “I can change! I promise; let me prove it—”

Cutting him off, no fondness made its way in Theolin’s voice. “And here I thought you understood the meaning of ‘no’. You  _ have _ been to kindergarten, I take it?”

All Hekion could do was gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Behind Theolin, the Kadrioses stood, hands over mouths, harsh gazes watching him. So, Theolin had told his family about them. Not all of it, of course, but enough that they had gotten invested in his secret partner. They had seen him happy, and Hekion had ruined that. He could hear his own father whispering something to Lord Graeus, words too faint to be made out.

That stung more than anything, how he had managed to fuck up enough that his father disapproved. He had stood by Hekion during all of his teenage years, had taken care of him as a child, had loved him since his birth, and he thought his son had irredeemably fucked up. His fault, this was all Hekion’s fault. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut? Why did he have to come clean about things? Wouldn’t it be enough for him to coast by on what he had already accomplished and live with the guilt later? Really, how stupid was he?

“Don’t think this is because of who you are.” The venom in Theolin’s voice was a sword at his throat. “This is entirely because of what you’ve done. Don’t speak to me—don’t even  _ look _ at me.” He cut himself off before Hekion could interrupt. “I will be civil in meetings, if only so that this damned nation can run smoothly, but do not expect any grace or mercy from me.”

Hekion’s words cracked as he responded. “I would never ask that of you. I—”

“I don’t care.” It sounded as if he had tamped down a sob as he spoke. “I. Don’t. Care. If you need something of me, then send my father a missive. You will never set foot in my house again. You are lucky I can so much as  _ look _ at you.”

“B-but—”

“No. What did you  _ think _ would happen?” His voice grew high with rage. “My mother handed me to my father when I was six days old and fucked right off because her plan to trap his money in marriage failed and you want me to take you? After you  _ lied _ to me for a year in a vain attempt to lower my social standing? Have you lost your Destroyer-damned mind?”

Hekion wilted, shrinking down into himself. Theolin never yelled, never spit his ire at the world, and here he was, flying his anger like a flag. Even Lord Graeus seemed taken aback, surprise bleeding into his features as Theolin continued his onslaught.

“Get out of my damned house! Get off of my damned property, and never speak to me again! If I die without seeing your face again, it would still be too many times that we’ve met.” His breathing came ragged, chest rising and falling hard. A note of dangerous calm entered his voice. “Call a carriage yourself. I don’t care anymore. Not about you, not about us, not about whatever plans we made for the future. I’ll mail you the things you left at my house so you can go and fuck yourself with them. Maybe you’d enjoy it more than you fucked me.”

Hekion’s breath hitched in his throat and his cheeks burned, vision growing blurry with tears. “I love you—”

“Take that love and shove it up your ass.”

He said it with such bitterness that a few people gathered genuinely winced.

Turning to the gathered crowd, Theolin took a moment to calm himself, words tense as he spoke. “My apologies to all gathered here. I acknowledge how unbecoming this all is of me. I am sorry, Lord Nadja and Sair Avram, for being so crass in your presence. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

Before Nadja could speak, Avram gave a polite bow, voice smooth. “Our son was a fool.  _ Our _ apologies that all of this happened in the first place. I do hope that this will not result in great discord between our families. I pray that this will be rectified quickly. Though I, of all people, am not privy to the goings-on here, I wish you only the best. Again, our deepest apologies. This will never happen again.”

Right. Better he smooth things over than Nadja. Hekion was sure that the only things coming out of his mother’s mouth were going to be noises of inarticulate rage. Perhaps he could find an inn for him to spend the night, something unassuming enough that no one would track him down and—

“Thank you,” Theolin was saying, a note of heaviness creeping into his voice. “Father, I apologize for my outburst as well. I understand that this was not the reason everyone was invited over, and I am deeply sorry to have ruined the mood.” His father didn’t get a word in edgewise as he kept on speaking. “If I am needed, I will be in my chambers. I pray that I will not be disturbed, though. I fear I have much to think about. Again, I hope everyone has a wonderful night here and that this doesn’t put a damper on things. It’s been quite an eventful evening, hasn’t it?”

He smiled through the last bit, even as a tear marked its path down his cheek. Without a word, his father wrapped his arms around him. That stung more than anything. Despite all the rumors, all the accusations that would no doubt be flying around after this, Lord Graeus was more than willing to stand by his son, going so far as to publicly declare his allegiance with him. Even though Theolin had been deceived by the oldest trick in the book, his father still loved him. Watching his own father standing tall, hands behind his back, Hekion couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy. His father would never be able to support him like this, so publicly, at the risk of Hekion’s career.

Bending low, Avram’s voice was a soft hiss in his ear. “This is  _ not _ what your mother meant by ‘don’t do anything else stupid’. We will be having a talk once we get home. For now, excuse yourself  _ politely _ , thank your hosts, and go to the manor. If you are smart, you will remain in your chambers until summoned.”

“I thought—”

“You didn’t think, you acted.” His father didn’t soothe so much as inform. “While your actions may have been seen as honorable in challenging times, we are not currently in such an era. You did something incredibly stupid, and now your mother and I are going to play as nice as possible so that no one decides to shun you from the court completely. If you loved him so much, then you should have kept your mouth shut and buried this.”

Hekion’s breath hitched, but he nodded, getting to his feet with his head bowed. Distantly, he heard himself apologizing profusely to Lord Graeus, to the gathered staff, to the few other Kadrioses who had joined them on this evening. As he turned to his mother, he could see her temper fading into something closer to resignation.

She looked... drained. It was as if Hekion had taken her life force and bottled it, throwing it aside as easily as he would a dirtied shirt. A heavy sigh heaved past her lips, all that anger fading away into exhaustion. Eyeing Lord Graeus, she inclined her head to the other room, mouthing something Hekion couldn’t make out. All around him, the entire room was silent, rather than abuzz with murmuring. Theolin’s uncle went off in search of him, shooting Hekion a dirty look as he left.

He was an idiot. A true, proper idiot, and he would pay the price for that. Lord Graeus spoke to him, something that, from his tone of voice, could be construed as a dismissal. As he bowed once more and made to leave, Theolin’s aunt followed him, stopping him in a foyer some ways off.

“That was foolish.” Her low voice snapped him out of his stupor. Turning to look at her, Hekion felt himself wilt under her sharp, dark brown gaze. “Foolish to do it here, foolish to reveal it now, and foolish to do it at all.”

“I-I…” He what. What excuse could he possibly come up with?

Even still, she waited for a response.

After a moment, he bit his lip. “I just felt so guilty. I… I couldn’t hold it in. It was like it would burn right through me.”

“That isn’t much of a reason, you know.” Despite the harshness of her words, her tone was sympathetic.

“I know.”

Continuing, she folded her arms. “He isn’t going to forgive this. Theolin is among the sweetest people I know, but he is never going to forget what you did, and he isn’t going to forgive you anytime soon—maybe ever.”

A shred of hope still surged up in Hekion’s chest. “You don’t know—”

“I do.” That sympathy evaporated like fog in the sun. “He doesn’t speak to his mother, even when she sends letters and attempts to give him gifts. He hates her for something he doesn’t even remember, and you’ve gone and broken his trust like this.”

“I love him.” He protested.

Theolin’s aunt laughed, a dark sound in her throat. “I believe you. I believe he does too, but that has rarely mattered to him before. Who knows, though. You were the first one of all his strays he cared enough about to bring home, so I could be wrong. In that case, you’ll have my apology.” Tilting her head, she watched him like a cat would watch a songbird. “I’d leave soon, though. You never know what people can become when pushed, and Lord Graeus has little love for you now.”

A chill ran through Hekion at the veiled threat, but he still nodded, mumbling out a goodbye as he went outside. One of the coachmen was summoned to bring him back to his estate, and, sequestered off in the confines of the plush vehicle, he sniffed, burying his face in his hands and letting out heaving sobs. Fuck. Creator, Destroyer, Wanderer, whoever was listening, please heed his prayers. Please, help him fix this error, help him rewind the clock.

Of course, no one would be listening. These days, it seemed like less and less gods paid attention to the mortal coil like this, only interested in new patrons, rather than helping their preexisting followers. Well, maybe thoughts like this only helped their case. Hekion had never been the most devout, had never attended temple in earnest or prayed before bed like the temple officials told him to. For all he swore by the Creation Trinity, he hadn’t given them much thought.

That would change.  _ He _ would change. Theolin would see, he could become a proper member of the dynasties. He would be absolved.


	22. I-5.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek behind the Ilesidur curtain....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES FINALLY WE GET TO ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE CHARACTERS!
> 
> Also mini update: updated the tags like i meant to a month ago (yay mental health issues), so uh.... sorry anyone who came here for some specific things but this really took on a life of its own lol this really started as a novella ^^"a
> 
> I might take a little hiatus for the next 2 weeks or so bc this is the last chapter of this arc, but i'll be back sooner rather than later! do feel free to leave comments, i love reading what yall have to say! the next arc should be shorter but still a fun ride, from what i've gotten written so far :)

Tonight was not going well, that was clear enough. Lieutenant Ilesidur Moren couldn’t help but let out a deep, annoyed sigh as he stalked through the halls, rubbing one eye with his palm. Belatedly, he noticed the smudge of eyeliner left on his skin, his makeup no doubt worse off for it. Fine, that was fine. Who was going to expect him to look put together after the party, especially with everything that had happened in such a short period of time.

Lord Terioak was in the dungeons and the Elven Queen herself had put him there. There would be no higher power to address any concerns he might have regarding this potential overstep of power, considering how Lords Nadja and Graeus had so willingly allowed her ruling to go through, unchallenged. It was eerily reminiscent of how Essren had conducted things.

Not even his own family had come to his aid—Lord Terioak had truly fucked up, but there was still hope if his contacts rallied behind him. Ilesidur would have to help set things into motion.

The walk to the Agro’opoli entrance seemed to take far longer than it should have, each step dragging on like sand through an hourglass. His sword rattled at his side accusingly, as if anyone here had the time needed to pay attention to his actions. Servants and attendants flitted about in a tizzy, hurrying to set the palace right in the wake of this evening’s events.

_ I hope Captain Erro’ar has a concussion. _ The dark thought bubbled up in his mind, but he did nothing to dismiss it.  _ I hope Captain Erro’ar becomes a drain on the palace and is sent into exile. I hope the king reintroduces consortship just for him. Wouldn’t that be a sight, the great and regal Hastion Erro’ar, down on his knees for the king. How gauche, how shameful. _

The man’s fall seemed to have hurt, though no one would likely notice it immediately with how out of it he had been. The sound of Captain Erro’ar’s forehead against the corner table would echo in his mind for weeks, and judging from the way his skin had broken and the faint outlines of bruises had already begun to appear last Ilesidur saw him, the bastard would remember it, too. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any lingering damage. Lord Terioak had promised him anyone he wanted, after all.

Good. With him out of the way, his ascendance would be that much easier. Few would want a captain of the guard so weak, so inept as to submit to narcotics in the middle of the party. With any luck, an addiction to the stuff would take hold, considering how high a dose he had been slipped.

Drug a king and net a guard, a loss turned into a gain. Lord Terioak would still be unhappy, but at least that one thing had happened to their benefit. Ilesidur should be able to stop by where they had held Vakino, talk some sense into the man. It wouldn’t do to have a Reiny spoiling everything they had worked so hard to complete.

Coming up to the door keeping the Agro’opoli contained, Ilesidur opened it with his personal key. The dungeon’s mechanisms slowly, unhappily unlocked and a grin slipped across his face. However much it didn’t like him, the damn structure would still have to open to him, would still have to accept his commands. How different was it from a person, from a kyani graduate, really?

As the heavy stone door locked shut behind him, Ilesidur regarded the lightling sent to greet him at the stairs’ landing. It was an unrecognizable species, wearing a pristine white dress with its hands clasped in front of it. Oddly enough, though, it didn’t bother to lower its head, instead staring at Ilesidur with those unnerving, glowing orange eyes, like embers in a dying fire. No readable expression graced its face, none of that humble placidity the dungeon so commonly used for his coworkers. This lightling looked like it  _ hated _ him.

Fine. He could deal with that.

“I see I get the creepiest one of the bunch,” Ilesidur said to no one in particular. The Agro’opoli would hear him either way. “Thank you.”

Characteristically, the lightling remained silent.

“To Lord Terioak and make it quick; I’m on a schedule.” He knew better than to wander through the dungeon without its assistance. It so hated when people didn’t follow its directions.

To its benefit, the humanoid before him moved quickly, turning that wrathful gaze ahead of them as the dungeon shuffled its innards about. It seemed that Agro’opoli didn’t want him inside itself any longer than strictly necessary. He was given the lord’s cell without fuss, none of the usual hamster wheel of eternally long hallways that it typically led him down manifesting. Better for him, anyway. The lightling stood to the side as they approached the cell, almost in a waking trance. It stared straight ahead, unblinking, as Lord Terioak roused himself to motion.

Even after only a few hours down here, he looked horrible. His makeup had been smeared when he struggled against the guards dragging him away and his fine party clothes had been rumpled by the sparse accommodations he had received. It would be a miracle if the satin and silk of his suit didn’t stain, really. A small tear marked the hem of his left pant leg, just large enough to be noticeable.

“Lord Terioak, it is a pleasure to see you, as always.” Respectfully, Ilesidur lowered himself in a bow.

His Lord didn’t seem all too pleased at that, though. When he righted himself, the man was glaring at him, entirely unbecoming of a noble of his station. Or future station, as well.

Folding his arms, Lord Terioak sat down in the chair he had been provided, leaning it against the wall. “Come to gloat, have we Lieutenant Moren? Is it not enough to lock me in here like common scum? Must I really be subject to whatever strange attempt at interrogation this is?”

“Oh, come now, Sir.” Ilesidur couldn’t keep the concern from his voice. “You know just as well as anyone why I’m here.”

“Do I?” Those pale eyes bored into him, peeling away the layers of his soul like a child prying the petals of a flower away from its bud to expose the premature anthers.

With a swallow, Ilesidur suddenly found it hard to look at the man, the man who radiated presence and authority like he had been born for it—well, he had. A stolen throne was nothing to laugh at, especially not in this day and age.

A quiet sigh seeped out of his Lord. “Right. I suppose Captain Erro’ar chose you to conduct this investigation, did he not—or is he still indisposed? Say, how did the royal family react to the debacle he made of himself? Surely, they must have named you acting Captain.”

Ilesidur’s mouth dried up. “Er, about that…”

“You must be joking.” No affection lingered in Lord Terioak’s tone. “Please, tell me this is some ill-conceived attempt at humor. You at least tried to insinuate that the damn man was imbibing on the job, didn’t you?”

His shoulders only drew up higher. “The Queen—”

“The Queen hardly knows how to wield the power she so readily stole. You simply are a failure. Is there anything you can do right?”

The words bit into Ilesidur with all the force of an attack dog. They knocked the wind out of him, bringing images of his mother to the forefront of his mind, bringing the memories of his childhood he had fought so hard to shove down under a thick layer of soil. A part of himself he had worked so hard to kill came back fully animate, just as his Lord wanted.

Before he could consider the implications of it all, he was sinking to his knees in front of the cell, palms on the cool, flat obsidian of the floor. “I’m sorry, my Lord. I will strive to do better next time.”

“You should be lucky I give an incompetent moron like you a next time.” Lord Terioak spat the words, and Ilesidur let himself bathe in the feelings running through his form, the shame, the humiliation.

This was his fault, he had been unable to fulfill his Lord’s plans when he was meant to, and now, his Lord would suffer for it. Had Lord Terioak been less merciful, there would already be plans in motion to ensure Ilesidur was executed the second he got to the throne, if not for his complete and utter disappointment, but for how much he had to lose. He needed to do better, though. He needed to be even remotely capable.

Tilting his head, as if to regard his vassal in a better light, Lord Terioak crossed his legs. “Would you like the chance to redeem yourself, Ilesidur?”

His name was like an ambrosia, smoothing everything over. If Lord Terioak meant to cast him aside, he would not be so intimate as to use his vassal’s name.

“Yes, Sir. What is it you would like me to do?”

“Let me out of this abominable place, and we can consider your mistakes forgiven.”

Ilesidur’s heart sank into his stomach. “My Lord, I can’t. You know the punishment if I even  _ try _ .”

A tremble worked through his limbs as Lord Terioak’s sly smile faded into a frown. Tapping one foot against the floor, he sat and waited for Ilesidur to change his tune, to begin offering solutions. For the first time in a long, long while, Ilesidur had no sweet placations on his lips, had nothing to give to make this situation remotely better.

“Well, it seems I allied myself with the wrong person, then.” His breath picked up at that. “And to think, you wouldn’t even  _ try _ to free me. How pathetic. They must have a strong hold on you, considering how eager you were to help. Tell me, have they found out about you yet? Have they discovered what your ‘ _ sister’ _ did, or is that still in the air, waiting to fall?”

Ilesidur froze, staring at his Lord with wide, horrified eyes. Slowly, he shook his head. “No, Sir.”

“Hm, they will soon enough, though. Without me there, who do you have to keep  _ that _ under wraps? Despite her failure on the throne, the Queen is rather good at uncovering things better left hidden. I can only imagine what they have on Captain Erro’ar to keep him so unwaveringly loyal—well, to have  _ kept _ him so loyal. He took a bribe from Lord Nadja, did you hear? I do so hope I didn’t pick the wrong man to support in this race to the top.”

He… what? Brows drawing together, Ilesidur turned this new piece of information over and over in his head. It didn’t make any sense. Captain Erro’ar was a man who had spent his entire professional life acting as refined as possible, carrying himself with as calm and clear a head as he could, confident that the sitting royal family would protect him should the worst happen. How could he throw that security away for the glint of money and a few earthly temptations? Had he lost his mind?

Seeing the confusion writ on his face, Lord Terioak continued on. “It’s quite odd, isn’t it. Had I known I could have bought him… I would likely be far further along than I am now, wouldn’t I?”

The words stabbed and gutted him, but Ilesidur still nodded, bowing his head in respect. “Yes, Sir.”

“So, let me ask again: what is it you plan to do about this situation we found ourselves in? Shall I languish here, sentenced to a crime that most certainly shouldn’t have been punished? Have they purchased your loyalty too? Say, has that whore of a king wrapped his lips around your cock yet, or is that pleasure still reserved for Captain Erro’ar alone?”

Ilesidur’s face whipped up, mouth flapping in a vain attempt to respond.

Lord Terioak only smiled at that, a pleased grin taking over his frown in a grotesque parody of affection. “Hm, I thought not. Do remember what they would do to you if—when they find out about this. For all this queen has tried to neuter herself, can you truly look me in the eye and tell me she wouldn’t have you executed for plotting against her?”

Pale, he met his Lord’s gaze, a tremor bleeding into his form. “No, my Lord.”

“I thought as much.” Rising, Lord Terioak approached the bars of his cell. The lightling didn’t move to stop him, so the Agro’opoli seemed to have deemed him harmless, at least physically. “I know now what I would like for you to do. The King will be vulnerable, emotionally, socially, perhaps even physically after a stunt like tonight’s. I want you to help him, to make yourself invaluable to him. Fill the role Captain Erro’ar plays in his absence and show the King how much of a better choice you are. We can continue from there.”

Nodding, Ilesidur looked up at his Lord, the man backlit by the eerie orange light of the prison. He looked like an avenging angel, like the Destroyer himself, come down to take him away to the city at the end of all things.

“Good. Then, leave me. I would like to compose myself for when I am properly interrogated. I am sure that will come in the next day or so, and so I would like to ensure that I lay the seeds properly when spoken to. I assume it will be you, correct? Captain Erro’ar will be indisposed for quite a while, if the alchemist mixed those drugs correctly.”

Another nod. “Yes, my Lord. Thank you for this second chance—”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet, Lieutenant.” His grin was positively vulpine. “The worst of it is still ahead. I do hope you’ll be able to pretend that you enjoy the company of that foolish man. He can be so intolerable, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

A hand came down atop his head, running over his blond hair fondly. Though his stomach tensed up in knots, Ilesidur still leaned into the touch, letting his honey eyes convey just how grateful he was for the lord’s attentions.

Smiling down at him, Lord Terioak pushed a strand of hair out of the lieutenant’s eyes. “You have your orders. See to it that I’m not disappointed, if you can manage that.”

He could do that. It would be simple; he had done it a million times before, even if the stakes had been much lower. Then again, if the King was a Reiny—and involved with Captain Erro’ar… well… how hard could it really be, especially if Ilesidur played to his strengths?

Essren had loved him. Essren had loved him so much. After a decade of being his king’s personal plaything, how different could this new one be? He knew how kings worked—Trinity, he had even been called ‘Kingsbane’, he could do something as simple as seducing the man who expected the least from him. Even if it went poorly, the seed would be sown, the doubt in Captain Erro’ar, the temptation in King Galengar.

“May I ask, Sir, why not try for the Queen if the King is already involved with Captain Erro’ar?” The question was out of his mouth before he could think to stop it, drafted and published by the blessed pressure against his scalp.

Lord Terioak’s ministrations stopped in a heartbeat. “You would like to  _ seduce _ the Stone Queen? Many doubt that she even  _ loves _ her husband and more rather simply tolerates him because he makes her life easier. I would never set you up for a mission you are destined to fail, Ilesidur. Do know, I only ask you for things you are capable of, and this is why I am so distraught when you fail.”

“I understand, my Lord.” A bitter taste lingered in his mouth, chasing the words.

Still, he stayed, letting his Lord play with him like this. It was indecent, bordering on erotic, the way Lord Terioak ran his fingers through his hair, fingers tantalizingly close to the shell of his ears, but Ilesidur willed his erection down, fighting the blush on his cheeks. Too soon, he was being dismissed, the lord casting him aside like a toy he had grown bored with. Ilesidur had to prepare for this, for when he became dull to his future king.

Leaving the Agro’opoli, it was as if a fragment of his own soul lingered behind, calling to him with every beat of his heart. It took far too long to make his way to the surface, not in the sense of the dungeon taking him through its maze-like interior, but that every second took an age to pass, every breath an eon to complete. With every step, the thread binding himself to Lord Terioak wore thinner, threatening to snap should he walk ever farther.

But snap, it did not. Not when he approached the landing to take him out of the complex, not when he ascended all sixty-six stairs, inch by steep inch, and not even when he locked the door to the dungeons behind him, inhaling fresh air for what felt like the first time in years. His Lord was down there, lost in a world of his own thoughts, and Ilesidur was to act as his hand. A simple fact of life.

As he left the empty guard office he bumped into Sair Beli. Literally, rather than figuratively. She had knocked into his chest and, judging from the displeased huff she let out when she glimpsed his face, he had not been the person she was so eager to see.

“Good evening, Sair Beli.” Ilesidur did his best to sound amicable, even though her true appearance, hidden behind layers of cream and dark blue fabric, haunted him. “How are you.”

“Fine.” Her response came curtly, as always.

But she stayed, attention fixed elsewhere. Giving her a confused smile, Ilesidur resisted the urge to take a step back. She had a sort of aura, one that made a person want to get as far away from her as possible. How she had managed to get promoted to such a high station, he would never understand. The woman unnerved everyone she interacted with—and not even for her species. Her very presence came uneasily, as if predatory animals lingered, hidden in her shadow.

Standing his ground, he folded his arms behind his back. “May I help you with something? I don’t mean to distract you from your work. I’m sure you are quite busy tonight.”

“You can help me by moving, Lieutenant Moren.” No love lingered in her tone, only sharp annoyance. “Go on, shoo. Do your duties like a good lieutenant.”

A darker smile slipped across his face as Ilesidur loomed over her, putting one elbow up to lean on the doorway. “Why, Sair Beli, you wound me. I am not a dog, so there’s no need to treat me as such. You and I both know that you aren’t meant to be in the guard hall at this time, so why would you need to enter? If it’s a guard you need, well, I’m right here.”

Her head tilted back, as if looking him in the eye. He could feel her gaze on him like a trail of ice passing over his skin. It took a surprising amount of effort to stifle a shudder. “I am not in the mood for your  _ shit _ tonight, Illie.” The nickname made him bite his tongue to avoid an incident. “I am going to count to three, and you had better be leaving when I finish. One.”

“Careful, Beli. I might report you for something like this. I’m sure the king doesn’t want just anyone—”

“Two.”

A pang of annoyance ran through Ilesidur. “Sneaking around, trying to get classified files, it’s unbecoming of you. I might think you’re a spy—”

“Three.”

“Someone might get the wrong idea, especially after everything that’s happened—”

Her voice could almost be described as apologetic when she next spoke. “You brought this on yourself.”

Before Ilesidur could ask what she meant, her hand—ungloved for once, cupped his cheek. Like a man shot, he crumpled, sinking to his knees as visions of his past overtook him, the smell of pine needles and salt filling his nose. His eyes welled up with tears and he curled up into himself, shaking like a child.

_ His mother, just before she had packed them all up and left his father along with their home in the middle of the night. Ilesidur had been young, and like a young child, had been crying loudly. His father was shouting something about shutting him up, and he had taken that to mean scream louder for candy or chocolate or whatever he had wanted at the time. To quiet him, his mother had taken a belt to him, reminding him that it was for his own good to behave. _

No, she had needed to keep him quiet so their father wouldn’t doom them all. Father’s anger was something to be feared, far worse than a belt or—

_ His younger sister, barely old enough to be a rebellious teenager, coming to him with hushed words and panicked pleads while their mother slept on in the next room over. She had fallen in with a bad crowd, she owed them money, she needed someone to help her. He had given her what she wanted, no questions asked. Ilesidur’s help had resulted in a body count. _

She was just a child, she had made a mistake and, as her older brother, he had stepped in to fix it. How could he have known that one thing would lead to another, would lead to the knife in his hand, the man on the floor—

_ A client, faceless as they all were after so long, bending him over in his carriage and taking him until Ilesidur bled, until there were little bruises where the man had held him still. He had limped back home after that, forty flecks richer, and not a single bit closer to paying off the debts his sister had run off with, the debts he owed to people ready to make his past go away. _

If they knew who he was, what he had done, his career—his life would be over. No one would ever forgive him, would ever give him a second chance.

_ Lord Terioak… his supposed savior… _

Belatedly, he realized he was screaming, sobbing gibberish into the cool tile. His body trembled, as weak as a newborn fawn, sweat soaking through his clothes and snot running down his face. Little sobs bubbled up out of him like he was just a young child, scared of the monsters in his closet. The thought of rising only made his stomach lurch, causing a fresh cascade of tears as he tried in vain to regain control of his faculties.

As if sensing his distress, Beli appeared beside him, a series of files in her arms. Her hands, now covered by gloves again, pulled his head up by his hair without regard for propriety.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Though her words were harsh, there was an apology in her voice. “You’re going to be vulnerable and raw for the next week, maybe longer, maybe shorter. Take it easy, is what I mean. Also, just so you’re aware, what your sister asked you to do was very messed up and that really isn’t your fault, so refrain from beating yourself silly over that. You were a teenager, too.”

All Ilesidur could do was blink at her, mute and numb. The realization that she had  _ seen _ his memories was nearly worse than experiencing it all again. Beli… Beli knew. Beli could hold that over his head—she held his continued existence in her hands, and she didn’t quite care for him.

“P-please—” the singly syllable was all he could choke out, arms too weak to support himself.

Gently, Beli let his head rest on the cool tile again. “Don’t worry, I have never been one to talk about others’ traumas. You might want to see a therapist about that, though. It would do you good to have someone to put everything into perspective. I know you have this whole hate... love… thing…” at that, she waved a free hand through the air and Ilesidur could imagine her face scrunching up in confusion, “with Captain Erro’ar, but he wouldn’t be opposed to speaking about these kinds of things. He could help you a lot, actually.”

“No,” he ground out. “Can’t do that.”

She shrugged, rising again, out of his field of view. “Fine by me. It’s your burden to carry and I would rather you didn’t bite my head off for trying to make it that much lighter. The Queen wanted to see these, to save you the trouble of reporting me to her. Have a good night, Lieutenant, and do understand that I am not a fan of doing…  _ that _ . I have some scruples, even though you may disagree.”

And then, she was gone, leaving Ilesidur lying in a small pool of his own tears, trying and failing to get a hold of himself.  _ This _ was her power?  _ This _ was what a patron had granted her? How many other things had he missed—was this even the extent of it all, or was this simply a toy compared to her main ability? Who had she used this on to get her position? The woman carried blackmail in the form of a single touch, and yet she was trusted with royalty.

Staggering to his feet, Ilesidur wiped his face, his sleeve coming away damp and stained with snot. Trinity, what a mess he must have looked like, disheveled, crying, and soaked with his own sweat as his body rehashed his trauma over and over, scenes stuck in his head like Ilvon photographs, pinned to the forefront of his mind by the smell of salt and pine needles. He… he needed to get to bed. He needed to rest, if he even could. A sinking feeling in his stomach let him know exactly what he would be dreaming of.


	23. 2-1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastion's hangover isn't as bad as he thought it would be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! on to part two!! and the culmination of some buildup (slowburn? ha! what's that!)
> 
> also!! super special thanks to Sekiraku who's turning this whole thing into a podfic!! link in the endnotes (they have an awesome voice!)
> 
> heads up there's porn in this one btw

Groaning, Hastion swiped a hand across his face. His head hurt. His head hurt very much, and his mouth felt like he had spent the night chewing sandpaper. The world was too bright, searing into his closed eyelids like floodlights. His body rebelled against him louder now that its master was awake, pain pounding through his skull like someone was going at it with a hammer. Rolling over was a mistake, that was clear enough in the surge of nausea so suddenly coursing through him.

He staggered up on wobbling legs, climbing over a warm, yielding something in a vain attempt to get to the bathroom before he spilled the contents of his stomach all over the carpet. Destroyer spare him, what did he  _ take _ last night? Had he really been stupid enough to try something new on a job? It would be a miracle if he earned a single tip for this night.

His face met carpet with an alarming thud, only adding to the dull aches lancing through him. What could he have possibly done last night, had each of his joints individually dislocated and reset? Everything ached, even the tips of his hair. Shuffling from the sheets reminded him of the urgency of the situation, driving him to stand. He stumbled over soft rugs, one hand outstretched to feel any doorways he might find—though it did nothing to help when his forehead smacked into a door frame, alerting him that he had, indeed, found the bathroom in this bright-walled labyrinth of a room.

A voice called out to him, but there was no time to process what they said. His stomach lurched and he rushed to the toilet, back arching as he vomited. This was horrible. This was more than horrible. He wanted nothing more than to lay back down and start the whole day over. That, or sleep the day away.

Wet sounds burbled up from him. How unattractive. It was little consolation that he could do this here, in the lavish home of… whoever instead of his tiny apartment. He wouldn’t be the one cleaning the bathroom, at least. Yes, he had to inhabit his body in this moment, but this wouldn’t be his mess to put right when he felt better. Good. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of this in six hours.

His bile tasted vile and watery, as if there was so little in his guts that only fluids came back up. Well, that made sense. From what he could remember of last night, he hadn’t eaten much. People had milled about, partaking in the hors d'oeuvres as the band started with some light music, mingling before the party truly started. A couple of things had passed through Hastion’s hands, a few morsels taken from each thing his king ate as a safekeep to taste for poisons, a cup of water handed to him by a server, complete with a sympathetic glance, a glass of light champagne his king insisted—

King. His. His king. The memory broke like waves on a rock, washing the ship of his dignity against a tumultuous coastline. He had acted like the fool of fools last night, jingling away as his inhibitions stripped away, drunk out of his mind on something slipped to him. How idiotic could he be, taking drinks at a party, for the Wanderer’s sake. Even infants knew better.

A hand on his back made him flinch, his knee colliding with the porcelain bowl of the toilet hard enough to bruise. Hidden away by a glove, it ran down his back in slow, soothing motions. Someone was murmuring something—words, almost certainly. They were close, inches away from his ear and… and… and in his stupid, deluded mind, he unwillingly conjured up images, him throwing himself at the royal family like some kind of overly familiar dog. It brought a flush to his cheeks.

Like a portent from a long-dead god, a glass of water apparated in his vision, connected to a manicured hand. Fuck it. If a glass of water could get him into this mess, then a glass of water would get him out. He took it with a croak that should have been a “thank you”, swishing it around his mouth to get the bulk of the taste out before gulping it down, shoving aside the new wave of sickness that crashed through him.

“You’ll be alright, it’s just a bad hangover.” A woman asserted beside him, voice cloying with false honey.

Irritation surged in him. “I know. I’ve had a hangover before.”

Though he hadn’t meant to snap, the words were off his tongue before he could help it. His mistake was immediately apparent, and he shut his jaws so quickly they clicked together. Apologies were already bubbling out before he heard laughter.

Turning, he set his wide, horrified eyes on his queen. His queen, who was rubbing his back as he threw up in her bathroom. His queen, who was trying to comfort him in whatever way she could. His queen, who was currently letting out a resounding, cackling laugh. Queen Malaidor didn’t laugh—the very thought was unheard of—but here she sat in her nightclothes, on her tiled floor, having a giggle at his rudeness. Her husband entered, stirring some sort of powder into a glass of yet more water, affection plain on his face.

‘What, did he get some on you?’ He mouthed, lips quirking up into a smile as Hastion did his best to disappear into the toilet.

“He lives, or, at least, he’s alive enough to be crabby.” The fondness in her voice took him by surprise, so different from the rigid, stoic persona she wore in public. Here, in her chambers, he could feel her relax. “Why don’t you get a stick and see if he’ll bite you.”

Galengar rolled his eyes, handing Hastion the new glass and signing with his free one. ‘Drink that, it will settle your stomach—and don’t you start apologizing.’ His mouth clamped shut, predictable platitudes held back. ‘We all know it was a mistake. I doubt you  _ wanted _ to be high out of your mind at something so dull as a noble party, yes?’

Nodding, he drained the cup, wincing at the bitter taste. The water at the bottom was gritty, oversaturated with the medication, and his stomach felt uncomfortably full at its new contents. He shifted, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand as Queen Malaidor pulled his hair back like it was nothing at all and smoothed down the strands sticking up.

“You should feel better in a few minutes. Until then, let's clean you up and back to bed.” Up this close, the way her eyes strayed over his face, never meeting his, was obvious. “I’ve taken the liberty of calling you out sick, so you can spend the day resting.”

Oh, so he was still hallucinating.

“I would hate to be a bother. I would be more than happy to work, it wouldn’t be any trouble.” Creator, was that really what he sounded like? Half dead and croaking?

Galengar rolled his eyes, wetting a towel and kneeling beside his guard. As he gently wiped the mess off of Hastion’s face, those grey eyes watched him with such intensity that they nearly pierced Hastion’s body, spearing him through his chest to the floor.

‘Don’t make me turn that into an order. You don’t get to work yourself to death on us, whether you want to or not. If it’s a matter of money, just say so.’

Shaking his head as minutely as he could, shame ran through Hastion’s bones. “I am perfectly happy with the amount I earn, thank you. I simply wish to be useful.”

‘Then be useful from my bed.’ His king placed a kiss to Hastion’s forehead, damp with sweat. ‘Go sleep off the worst of it before I drug you myself.’ A grin marked his words as a joke, though the underlying threat persuaded him to action.

“Of course, Sir.” He rose, legs still trembling.

Instantly, two bodies held him up on the way to the bed. For all his fussing and complaints that he was perfectly fine, it was nice to have someone help—have two someones help. His nudity was a non-issue, neither of them afraid to put a hand where a hand needed to be. Unfortunately, his body didn’t let him enjoy the attention, demanding that he sleep, or step out and have a smoke, or take another hit of whatever had gotten him so fucked up. It made his stomach roil, his face no doubt turning a sickly shade of green as he closed his eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths.

“Are you alright?” The queen’s voice was in his ear, smooth and low. “If you need to throw up again, we can escort you.”

His head shook of his own accord. “I… I just need to rest, is all.” And maybe some clothes. “I can make my way to my cham—”

“No, you cannot.” She decided for him, calm as ever.

Before he could protest, he was guided to the bed. Soft, clean sheets silenced him as good as any retort, even if his anxiety poked at him when he felt two bodies slide in beside him. Someone sat beside him—the king, judging from how much contact he could feel, while the Queen rested her gloved fingers atop his head protectively. Covers were pulled over him, and Hastion couldn’t muster the energy to argue, submitting to this treatment. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was back in the land of sleep.

It only seemed like seconds before he became aware of the sound of turning pages, the scribbling of a pen on paper, and fingers carding through his hair. His cheeks heated up, one ear giving a telltale twitch as that hand ran over his scalp again and again, gentle and confident.

He had gotten a kinkster indeed, that was the first thought in his head. He had gotten a kinkster and his payday was going to be  _ nice _ . Precious few elves were alright with having their hair petted like this, like lovers. Fewer still were keen on letting strangers play with their  _ ears _ . Here Hastion was, though, getting his pay—

Memories came rushing like a flood. Oh.  _ Oh. _ Fuck.

Without thinking, he curled up into the pillow before him, hiding his bright red face in its softness. It smelled nice. No, it smelled like the queen. There needed to be a distinction in his brain. The queen wouldn’t want him thinking on how nice she smelled, or how her conditioner reminded him of arioden flowers or the way her clothing was like silk beneath his fingers, even when it was a simple cotton.

“Are you alright?” Her voice sounded above him, and Hastion wanted nothing more than to scream into the pillow until the world ended.

He didn’t, of course, but the temptation was hard to resist. Instead, all he could do was nod slowly, muscles so tense that he could feel a tremor working its way through his limbs. No doubt that they stood in high relief on his back, highlighting how far from the Elven standard he had let himself stray. Concerned fingers brushed over his spine, tracing words into his skin. Their meaning lost to him, Hastion tried to get that shaking to still. Soon, he had himself back under control, though his face still felt dangerously hot.

“I am fine.” Muffled, he hoped his words were loud enough. “I was just a little surprised; I did not mean to offend.”

Relatively chaste petting turned into the indecency of long, soothing scratches against his scalp. “My apologies. You were whimpering in your sleep, so I hoped to calm you some. It seemed to work, but if you’d like, I can stop.”

“It’s alright.” Oh, he was going to die. “I don’t mind.”

“That’s good to hear.” A page turned, from her, likely. “Gal had to step out for the day, so I hope you don’t mind that it’s just you and me. You’re quite the good company for yet another dull report.” Was there a smile in her voice, or was he truly going mad.

Not thinking on the implications of being alone with his queen like this, outside of the purview of her husband, completely naked, Hastion just tightened his grip on the pillow. “My apologies for… for everything. I assure you, I did not mean—”

Her fingers passed dangerously close to the shell of his ear, doing as much to silence him as her interruption. “Oh, you can’t possibly think that’s your fault. I’m not going to hold a non-consensual drugging against you, and I’m not going to take issue with you taking a day off to recover. I wouldn’t accept any less, especially given just how much was in your system.”

So that explained why his body was demanding that he have more, to fight the hangover with the hair of the dog that bit him. The urge lingered, returning full force the second his attention wandered.

“If there’s anything you need, by the way,” she continued, either ignorant of or not caring how rude he was, only giving her half his attention, “don’t hesitate to ask. You’re welcome to borrow either my own clothes or Galengar’s, though I fear neither of us will fit you much. I know it could cause a stir if you asked for something like that to be brought here—”

“Can I have a cigarette?” His voice came without his authorization, weak and hoarse.

A beat of silence stretched before there was the sound of shuffling, as if the queen was nodding. Her fingers stilled in his hair, more tantalizing than before. “Of course. Any preference to the—”

“Any cigarette.” Not caring that he cut her off, he hunched in at his own lack of control. “Sorry, Sir.”

With a pat to his head, the queen rose from the bed. “No trouble at all. I’ll be back soon.”

He mumbled out a ‘thank you’, but she likely didn’t hear. Pants. He needed pants. Maybe even a shirt, if he was lucky. The queen almost certainly didn’t want him smoking inside here.

In the other room, he could hear her opening the door, the soft, indistinct murmurs as she spoke to the attendant. Rising, Hastion did his best to ignore the way his head swam, dizzying and nauseating. Still, he managed to stagger his way to the coffee table, where some clothes lay. Pulling on a pair of light shorts took far more energy than he thought it would, leaving his heart racing and his head aching. Fuck the smokes, he should have asked for painkillers. Did he have a concussion?

As if hearing his thoughts, Queen Malaidor reappeared in the doorway, holding a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Upon seeing him, a note of sympathy lingered in her gaze, dangerously close to pity. Fine. He could take that. Muttering his gratitude in a voice too grating for him to pay attention to, he made his way over to her balcony, lit up and took a long drag.

Fuck, that felt good. Two years down the drain just because he was stressed out and it felt so  _ good _ to smoke. Heaving out a sigh, he rested his arms on the railing, lowering his forehead against the cool metal. Beside him, he could feel the queen’s presence as she followed.

“I wasn’t aware you smoked.” No accusation, no judgement, just curiosity. Odd, for a noble.

He took another puff, politely blowing the smoke away from her. “I used to. I quit when I started working here, though.”

Silence passed, lingering for far too long between them.

“I’m sorry you felt the need to start up again.” The loathing in her voice had turned inward, no doubt ready to cut herself to ribbons. Its familiarity was haunting. “I apologize for putting you into such a situation.”

His words came to him without a second thought. “It’s alright, Sir. It wasn’t something you chose, and you didn’t expect the party to turn out like this. Sometimes, people just become casualties.”

He could see the way she blinked at that. Creator and Destroyer both damn those drugs for putting him back into this headspace. Not everyone wanted to speak to someone so cavalier about this all, and by dragging himself down to the level he was at then, so fixated on the here and now…

“Sorry.” The apology passed his lips before he could think to stop it. “I’m sorry, I just—” Straightening up, he raked his gaze over the gardens, quiet and peaceful in the late morning light. So, he had slept in. “I know I’m not a very good companion when I’m hungover. None of this is your fault and I can be out of your hair—”

“Why would I want you out of my hair?” Genuine confusion rose in her voice. “Clearly, you’re suffering. I would never ask you to leave because of something like that.”

A quiet, dark chuckle rumbled in his throat, slowly building into a full-bodied laugh. “Fuck. My patron is going to be so pissed at me.”

Alarmed, she frowned at him. “I was unaware that you were an arcanist.”

With a surprised smile, he furrowed his brow. “…my patron for my rehab program. Doctor Lend recommended I continue it after I started work with the palace. You  _ have _ read the background check I was given, right?”

“Of course, I haven’t.” At his confused glance, she continued. “It would be a massive violation of privacy. Whatever you’ve done in your past, that is yours to know and yours to reveal when you feel comfortable. As there was nothing flagged as damning in the report, I abstained from reading it. Galengar too.  _ I _ certainly wouldn’t care for someone paging through my life story.”

The shock on his face must have been clear, because she sent him as sympathetic a look as she could, leaning on the railing with him. “Would you like me to call for the doctor? I don’t know the protocol for things like this, but I’m sure Doctor Lend would be able to direct you somewhere.”

Shaking his head, Hastion couldn’t help the way his lips twisted into a tight smile. “No, it’s alright. I’ll schedule something with her anyway to take the worst of the cravings off. As for the smokes…” eyeing the cigarette burning down in his hand, he felt a pang of nostalgia. “I’ll cut myself off at one, lest I end up asking for smoke breaks for the next month.”

“A wise sentiment.” She hummed, having secreted the pack of smokes away somewhere. A traitorous part of his mind urged him to ask for its location, pleaded with him to indulge, just this once.

With a shrug, he put those thoughts out of the forefront of his mind. “I’ve been around this block a few times. Nothing too glamourous about it anymore.” He sighed, taking the last few drags. “I’d rather be over and done with it all, but I won’t have that for years, at this pace.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tapping his ashes off, he glanced around for a place to put his discarded butt, finding an unused ashtray in the corner. “Don’t be. Like I said, things happen. And now, I don’t feel as nauseous or dead, at the cost of some nicotine patches later. Why don’t I go rinse my mouth out and take a bath, though. I must smell awful, even under all the smoke.”

Her smile, though genuine, was small. “Of course. I can set aside some more appropriate clothing if you would like to spend the day with me. I’m sure Galengar wouldn’t have any issue with that; he’ll be in meetings until the evening anyway. Make yourself at home.”

As he nodded, Hastion couldn’t help the tightness in his chest. Despite the queen’s eternal monotone, she cared what happened to him. No doubt she would ask for a trip to Doctor Lend be put into his schedule tomorrow while he was in the bath, and he could be certain she would also ask for clothing in his size, no matter what she said about propriety. Of course, he wouldn’t ask whose closet it had come from, and he would attend whatever she put on his agenda, but the sentiment was still there. For the first time in years, someone cared enough to pay attention.

Closing the door behind himself, Hastion didn’t bother to let the water run to warm up in the tub. It was hot enough outside that a cool bath would be much appreciated. As the bathtub filled, he rinsed his mouth out as best he could, splashing his face slightly cleaner.

His gaunt look was all too familiar, the dark circles under his eyes as much a tell as anything. He hadn’t looked this dead for a while, not since the first time he woke up like this, body urging for something he was unwilling to give. A stop at Doctor Lend’s would net him some medication to take the edge off of the cravings, something to reduce the temptation some. Maybe also something for the headaches. That would be nice. The side effects, he would suffer through with minimal complaint.

He stripped out of the shorts quickly. Were these the queen’s? The king’s would barely fit him, so this seemed to be the option they had come up with. Admittedly, it would be hard to find bedclothes for him in his rooms, considering he had exactly what the palace afforded him in that department, still unused. Should he have invested in more? Then again, why would he have expected spending the night here?

A nasty bruise marred his hip, its stinging registering in the back of his mind. Right, he had fallen. A similar mark stood out on his forehead when he glanced at the mirror, somewhat obscured by his mussed-up hair. Dried blood highlighted where he had no doubt smacked his head against a table—likely one of the major components of his current headache.

With a groan, he clambered into the tub and sank into the water, its buoyant heat tantalizing around him. Creator, did he need this. Sighing, he stretched out in the expansive tub, far bigger than anything he ever had. The porcelain was warm against his back, contouring to his body with an arcane ease as the smell of the queen’s soaps hung in the air. He tipped his head back, letting his eyes slide closed in bliss as the tension crept out of his form.

Oh, this was nice. This was very nice after something like last night. If this was his reward for making a scene at parties, then it seemed he would need to be less behaved in public. Surely the royal family knew how easily this sort of treatment would only reinforce bad behavior.

Scrubbing the smell of sick and smoke from his skin, Hastion couldn’t help but make a note of the queen’s wide array of soaps. Many were unscented, that or for a more delicate constitution than he was used to. This must have been what she was used to, this easy luxury. A similar thing had graced his king’s washroom, though he had a larger selection of actual formulas and scents, rather than many different kinds of soaps. He had more love for bath oils than his wife, it seemed.

Still, this pampering would have to end at some point. Once he was finished, Hastion stood, grabbing one of the large, fluffy towels hanging on the towel rack and drying himself off as best he could. No one had granted him his clothing yet, so all he could do to cover himself up was wrap the towel about his waist.

Toweling his hair out, Hastion made sure he was decent as he stepped out of the bathroom.

“There wasn’t anything for me to change into,” he started, glancing up.

The queen’s eyes on him dried his words up in his mouth. She regarded him with a… a hunger, as if he were a temptation to her, as ridiculous as it was. Her writing had paused, pen hovering over her paper as her gaze roved over the hard planes of muscle on his chest and stomach, scars highlighted now and again in his dun skin.

“Oh,” Queen Malaidor said, as if from far away. “Let me get you something, then. I hope you don’t mind my own things, they should fit well enough, perhaps a little oddly in some places…”

She trailed off, flicking her eyes back to his face.

Suppressing the urge to blush, Hastion nodded. “That would be wonderful, thank you. I take it you wouldn’t want me leaving your rooms in this state.” His laugh echoed slightly, though she gave him a small smile for his troubles.

“Of course. Feel free to sit on the bed, I know I don’t have many places in here to actually take a seat.”

As she rose, disappearing into her closet, Hastion obliged her. Though the task was a challenge, he set about putting his hair in order, combing through it with his fingers. It would look quite suggestive, but hopefully, the queen wouldn’t mind too much. If it was to be an issue, she would have requested a hairbrush, or sent for a stylist, right? Surely, she didn’t think he would emerge, perfectly made up with everything in its proper place.

And then, his hand got stuck as a ring he had forgotten snagged on a knot. Fuck. Fuck, fuckity, fuck. Tugging on it only made the knot tighten, his hair threatening to tear. Still, he pulled harder, biting his lip to keep from yelping as his scalp burned.

“These should be alright. I’m not too sure what kind of style you like,” the queen was saying as she returned, “but I don’t think it will matter too… what are you doing?”

“Nothing.” It came out a bit more panicked than Hastion intended, but that was fine. That was perfect. Everything was going perfectly fine.

Setting the clothes down on the bed, the queen approached, tactfully ignoring how his towel only barely hid his privates. “Did you get something stuck? Here, don’t pull. You’ll just rip your hair out. Let me help.”

Her voice quieted at that last statement, powerful as it was. Slowly, Hastion nodded, scooting over so she would have room. Queen Malaidor crawled into her own bed, sitting down behind him. He could feel her deft fingers undoing the knots, untangling and freeing with feather-like touches, as if he were something to be sanctified. Before long, the ring dropped out of his hair and into her waiting palm.

“There,” she said, hushed, “that wasn’t too bad, now was it?”

“No, Sir.” His answer cracked down the middle.

And still, she lingered. Those royal fingers hovered at the nape of his neck, just barely brushing the delicate strands of hair there. The both of them held their breath, anticipating… something. That the queen would even consider rejection to be a possibility was a testament to her grace and kindness—she would deny herself something she desired, if only to ensure he was comfortable in her chambers. What a wonderful woman.

“Hastion,” her voice was soft, and as he turned, he could see the way she averted her eyes, studying the bedspread. “Would it be alright if I conducted an experiment with you?”

The answer came immediately, not a trace of doubt in his mind. “Of course, Sir.”

“May I…” She paused, a faint ruddy tinge blooming over her cheeks. “May I kiss you?”

In lieu of a vocal response, he merely nodded. Meeting his eyes, Malaidor took a deep, steadying breath, as if preparing herself. She leaned forward, and then, like two teenagers submitting to their hormones, they were kissing.

The queen’s lips were soft against his, but her mere presence was enough to stop Hastion’s heart. This… this was… Had he not already been starting a relationship with the king, he would have been hanged for pulling a stunt like this. Now, with how entangled he was in the royal family, he would be lucky to have such a painless death. As Queen Malaidor pulled back, an odd shock and surprise in her eyes, she let her gaze fall to his chin.

“I didn’t… that didn’t hurt.” Her words were a murmur, barely audible.

Blinking, Hastion couldn’t bite back his retort. “I should hope so.”

She shook her head. “Physical contact... It’s a trauma-related condition. I have flashbacks and panic attacks at most physical contact. I didn’t this time.”

Her words, spoken as though surfacing from a dream, bit into Hastion’s core. It explained far too much about her to dwell on, and this, a glimmer of hope in an otherwise dark and desolate ocean must have been torturous for her. She had sought solace in the arms of her husband’s guard, and she had found something completely unexpected and not wholly unwelcome.

A moment of silence stretched between them, breath held in anxious chests as they made eye contact for the first time in what must have been ever. Her eyes were… they were like snow, a dark ring around her iris the only thing to distinguish it from her sclera. Not that it posed much difference now, with how her pupils had grown in the afternoon light, the two of them together. What a wreck he must have looked, with his own mussed clothing, hair still drying from the bath.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, the apology hanging in the air. “I… I’m sorry.”

“Your husband.” Hastion couldn’t keep the words in, guilt and confusion overbearing, his emotions rioting inside him.

Shaking her head, Queen Malaidor traced his jawline with a gloved finger. “He would be alright with this. We talk of things like this at times, and he said he would be alright with sharing you. If that makes you uncomfortable…”

“No.” He blurted out. “No, Sir.”

“Malaidor. I would rather you call me by my name.”

“No, Malaidor.” The correction was barely audible, his eyes tracing her face for any sign of… malcontent? Rejection?

Surprisingly strong fingers flickered over his ear, exploring, and every coherent thought he ever had in his life vanished like a plume of smoke. Biting back the embarrassing noises that threatened to spill from him, he leaned into her touch. Like a rubber band had snapped, she sank into his lap, her stockings dragging against his bare legs so sinfully as she trapped his lips in hers again. He didn’t even think to resist, his hands wandering up and down her clothed back until she pulled back.

“Why, hello.” With a deceptively small smile, she reached between his legs to cup his hardening member. “Looks like someone wants to play.”

Ah, so Hastion was going to die of shame today. Unable to fight down his blush, his stuttered attempts at an apology were interrupted with a needy gasp as she squeezed gently. A hand pushed his shoulder, urging him onto his back, and he complied without a shred of insurgency. That same hand pinned his wrists above his head, his queen giving him a surmising glance as muscles stretched and flexed with the motion.

“Can you keep those there for me?” She asked, as if she were requesting a glass from the opposite side of the room. Mouth dry, Hastion nodded, lips parted in anticipation. “Good boy.”

The praise made his head spin more than anything, his cock well and truly waking up.

“I see that did something.” A note of pride lingered in her tone. “I must admit, I’m a bit rusty. I haven’t done this since I was a teenager—fifty-seven, to be specific. I do hope you can forgive any awkwardness, to say the least.”

“Of course, Malaidor.” His voice cracked on her name, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

That blessed hand returned to fondling his ears. “Gods and men, do you know how tempting you are? I thought I might die when you laid down in my bed, so insistent, but I would never do something like  _ that _ .”

The only thing Hastion could respond with was a breathy “thank you”.

“No thanks needed. It’s a wonder how my husband hasn’t had you yet. You certainly make it easy to dream about.” She paused for a moment, mulling over her words. “This isn’t meant as an insult. I know I can be misinterpreted—and here I go,” those stern, royal lips quirked into a lopsided smile, unpracticed but genuine, “trying to explain my way through foreplay.”

“You’re doing great.” Chewing on his lip, Hastion shifted his hips slightly. “Very great. That’s not good grammar. Fuck, could you please just fuck me already.”

Creator, he sounded so needy when he said it like that, more a whine than anything respectable. It seemed to amuse his queen, though, judging from how she rolled her clothed hips against his. Tensing the muscles in his arms, he kept still only through the force of his will, his body sparking with desire. It had really been too long, if a bit of praise and grinding got him this hard, this distracted.

Mouthing something, the queen feathered her finger down the curve of his bicep, across his shoulder and down to his pectorals. “I forgot how fit you were, is it hard to keep in such good shape?”

“I have a routine and—” he broke off to let out quite the undignified moan as she tweaked a nipple, “and I use the gymnasium on my days off.”

“I see, very impressive.” She hummed, hoisting her simple skirt up to take off her underwear.

And then, his work-out regimen was the farthest thing from Hastion’s mind. Gloved fingers carefully poked and prodded him into a more appropriate position as she straddled him, the fabric of her skirts hiding her motions from his eyes. That hand closed around his dick, pumping carefully, gently, horrendously slow.

“Is this alright?” An edge of anxiety crept into Malaidor’s voice. “You’re allowed to say ‘no’, if you like—it won’t upset me, and I would respect—”

“Malaidor, please fuck me.” Suppressing the urge to buck into her hand, Hastion couldn’t muster up the effort to be embarrassed at his crassness. “Please.”

With a nod, she lined herself up with him and  _ oh. Oh, yes _ . A matching groan from the queen joined his own, his fingers scrabbling against the headboard. She was hot and tight and wet and  _ perfect _ after so Creator—Destroyer—whoever-damn long. He let his breath out in a sigh, a string of pleased, heady curses coming with the exhalation. The queen chuckled at that, more a sharp burst of air than anything, but he understood her anyway. A gloved hand came to rest against his stomach, stabilizing her as she got used to his length inside her.

Slowly at first, she lifted and lowered herself on him with long, languid strokes, nigh intolerably teasing. Chewing on her lip, she pushed his hair out of his eyes with an almost careless fondness, pinching the tips of his ears on every descent to bring more moans and whines to his mouth. Her pace quickened, and it became hard to resist thrusting up into her. Their breath came in pants, interspersed with groans and broken syllables and  _ fuck _ yes, he had needed this, he had needed this more than a cigarette or a shot of liquor or even the opiates he had dumped into his veins years ago.

All too soon, he was babbling like he had at the beginning of his old job, trying to form some kind of bond, some kind of camaraderie, offering a running commentary on how beautiful he thought the queen was, on how good she was making him feel, on how she should have done this sooner, rather than later, all sorts of annoying nonsense.

She didn’t seem to mind, though. When he clamped his mouth shut with an apology, she simply shook her head, prompting him for reports on whether or not he liked this—and yes, he very much  _ did _ like it when she ran her hands over his throat like that—or that, triggering the cycle again and again.

Far too quickly, her body tightened around him as she dug her fingers into his shoulders, hanging on as what were once smooth strokes turned into jerking, disjointed things, corrupted by need. He could feel the crescents of her nails through the fabric of her gloves, sharp enough to leave little indentations in his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the pain, about the lack of it, about the anything at all. Need, insistent and loud, built up within him, driving him to rut into her with what little motions he could at this angle.

As the queen cried out over him, a Solaquen curse slipping from her lips, all he could do was pant and keep humping his hips into the air. A low keen tore itself from his throat, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the headboard. This was… this was exactly what he needed, this was the perfect end to his dry spell, a manifestation of all his guilty imaginings.

“You’re doing a good job.” Queen Malaidor murmured, stroking his cheek with the back of one hand. “You’re doing so well.”

An undignified whimper slid out of his mouth, his dark eyes meeting her pale. Though her gaze quickly shifted to a spot between his, she gave him a breathy chuckle.

“So good for me. An expert at this. Maybe we should keep you as a consort instead? You could warm our beds and keep us nice and satiated. Then again, I think the nobles would take issue with my bending you over the table when you prove too tempting for me.” It seemed that she, too, was babbling. “You really are a treat, did you know that? Sometimes, I look at you and I’m overcome with the urge to shove you into the nearest closet and see exactly how curious the attendants are.”

His blush only deepened at that, even if he had long-since strayed beyond the realm of words. With a strangled plea, he let himself release, his back arching almost painfully as a scream tore its way out of him. Anything he could have possibly thought dropped from his mind like a stone as he heaved for breath, fighting his way back from the aftershocks.

Gently, as if he were made of glass, the queen eased off of him, wincing as his spend trickled down the side of her thigh. He had done that, him.

“I… thank you.” Was all he could say, prying his fingers from the headboard. “Sorry.”

She gave him an odd look, draping the blanket over him so she could more easily hold him, what with all the exposed skin. “There isn’t anything to be sorry for.”

There wasn’t a good response he could think of for that. With a quiet grumble, he allowed himself to be held, Malaidor’s arms around him. “Your husband…”

“I genuinely don’t think he’s going to mind.” She mused, resting her chin atop his head. “So long as one of us tells him.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“We can decide that later.” Mumbling the words into his hair, she sighed. “Though it should be soon.”

“Uh-huh.” Hastion muttered, face splitting into a yawn.

Faintly, he could hear her chuckle. “All tuckered out already? Doctor Lend said you would be tired, but I expected more from my captain.”

“Let me be sleepy.” His eyes slid closed, breathing slowing. “I haven’t gotten laid in a while. Sir.” He added as an afterthought. “Sir Malaidor. Don’t correct me.”

A hand cupped his cheek good naturedly as he let himself relax, drifting off as a thumb brushed his cheekbone, passing over sensitive skin. This was… nice. This was very nice, and Hastion let himself submit to his queen’s affections, nuzzling into her touch as his limbs grew loose and limp. His day had taken a rather interesting turn, it seemed.


	24. 2-2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malaidor has quite the elucidating conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt forget to post i promise, i've just been trying to finish part 2 before month's end and that means sometimes you write 7k in one evening on an interlude you didn't intend to make, whoops ig lol

Not pregnant. Malaidor was not pregnant—a morning-after pill had seen to that—and that was all she could ever wish for. Carrying a child so soon after her husband had been publicly outed would be damning, completely and utterly damning. It would also make a rational conversation about all… this… rather difficult, with how a baby complicated things. Perhaps at a future date, when the very thought didn’t turn her stomach in fear and anxiety, they could all discuss bringing a child into this world. They wouldn’t have to look far for a sperm donor, after all.

Gal hadn’t come to her rooms last night, which had thrown her and Hastion’s original plan right out the window. They had found a way to amuse themselves, though, rediscovering long-suppressed libidos. Without arousing too much suspicion, Hastion had opted for some condoms rather than a birth control prescription for either of them. That would blow the secret entirely out of the water. Maybe after a while of this Malaidor would ask for some, but until then, condoms would have to do.

Still, it was a disappointment that her husband had slept in his own rooms, evidently too far gone to answer the door for the messenger they’d sent to inquire after him. That was fine, though, odd but fine. He was probably just working through some things, he  _ had _ mentioned visiting his therapist regarding this, and with all the looks he must have been getting all day… it was understandable that he’d want to sleep everything off instead of facing his wife and his guard. A familiar face could be so draining after a long day.

Waking up to Hastion getting out of bed felt odd, though. His movements were so different from Gal’s, unexpected in anticipation of familiarity. It… it troubled her in ways she couldn’t put to words. He moved through her chambers on quiet feet, as if afraid to disturb her slumber. When he passed out of the bathroom again, picking through clothes for something to wear, Malaidor piped up.

“Are you starting the morning already?”

He flinched, jerking his head up to look at her, eyes wide. “Er, yes, Sir. I’m needed elsewhere, especially with having called out sick yesterday.”

“Doctor Lend—”

“Is expecting me.” He finished for her. “I’ll be off to get something for the cravings.” A frown slipped over his face. “You know, you could stand to pour a bit more funding into research on that. The potions they have on hand have some aggravating symptoms, and it would be lovely to not have to worry about potential interactions with alcohol or aches at the injection site, or a slight lowering of inhibitions.”

Something to keep in mind. “I’ll bring it up with the dean of the Academy the next chance I get. You’re welcome to write down any issues you may have, that can ensure that they’re heard.”

With a noncommittal grunt, Hastion slipped on his pants and undershirt, smoothing down his hair. In silence, Malaidor watched him dress, all put together like it was nothing at all. Soon, he would be off to do whatever was needed of him, working and whiling away his days.

“Have a peaceful shift.” Sitting up, she kicked off her own day as she crossed into the bathroom.

She heard his response of “you too” just before he left, the door clicking closed behind him. And, just like that, she was alone again. So much of her time was spent like this, a bird in a gilded cage of whitewashed walls and ornate decorations. They would expect her to be up and ready before long, making her rounds with the nobles, doling out apologies and sympathies.

The matter of what to do with Terioak loomed on the horizon. Charging him with treason would fall under Hastion’s purview, it would be his investigation to determine whether or not he had any involvement with the drugging affair, along with how deep his blackmail against Gal went. The Agro’opoli would only serve to detain him for so long before people started to ask questions, before people started to compare her to her predecessor.

A sigh slipped past her lips as she drew up her pants, securing the finely embroidered cream fabric with a belt older than any member of her family she could remember. With any luck, Hastion would work faster than expected—he usually did, if history was anything to set her watch by. As sitting monarch, she could detain someone for treason for up to three weeks, one of the last holdovers of Essren. Funnily enough, he had reduced the time too, down from two months. Perhaps this was just the nature of her throne, one unethical decision after another. How long until they all crumbled down, shattering to bits at her feet?

Calmly, she gathered what things she would need for the day and left, her escorts falling into line beside her. First on the docket, a meeting with Lords Nadja and Graeus, likely to go over the utter debacle of the ball. With any luck, she would be spared her usual migraine.

The pair were already waiting in the meeting room, sitting in the comfortable chairs and chatting in hushed tones. As soon as she entered, their conversation died as they rose, bowing to her in respect. Shooting them a tight smile, Malaidor gave a returning bow and motioned for them all to take their seats. Silently, Nadja and Graeus obliged, Graeus resting his interlaced fingers on the table while Nadja made use of the armrest on her chair.

A beat of quiet passed before Malaidor waved her guards away.

Lord Graeus lifted an eyebrow. “Rather bold of you, Your Majesty.”

Now had to be the worst possible time to tease her, and she made that known in an uncharacteristic slip of her stony mask. Graeus’s brow creased in sympathy, rather than worry. The man had too much faith in her patience.

“Right, not the place to joke around.” Still, he leaned against the back of his chair, strangely relaxed. “May an old man ask that we do away with formality and pretense to say what we mean plainly? It’s been quite a few days for all of us here, and I think we could do with pretending to be actual friends.”

Resisting the urge to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of that suggestion, Malaidor let herself ease somewhat, Nadja already taking off her heels. At Graeus’s smirk, she rolled her eyes with a good-natured huff. When had those two grown so close?

“I have to spend the entire day in those damn things. Allow me a measure of comfort.” Though harsh as always, an undercurrent of fondness lingered in her voice.

Was this simply what they were like, away from prying eyes and political pitfalls? Had Malaidor lost out on this, as close a friendship she could get with her peers, in favor of changing more, taking on more work in the hopes that her rule would help someone?

With a start, she realized that they were waiting for her cue, for the interloper in this dynamic to either accept or reject their unspoken terms. Gods and men, what she would give to have Galengar here at her elbow to help. He understood people so much better than her, was such a quicker wit. Both of the other dynasty heads spoke sign, it was a travesty that they preferred to meet with her.

Clearing her throat, Malaidor let herself slouch a little, crossing her legs at the ankle. “A bit of informality never hurt anyone. Speaking of: I wish to apologize for—”

Graeus raised a hand. “The incident at the party was my fault, mine entirely. I didn’t keep Terioak on as tight a leash as I should have, and now this happened. How is Captain Erro’ar, by the way? He’s always been such a friendly face—I must commend you for picking him as Captain. I noticed that he called out sick yesterday and, well, can you fault me for worrying?”

“I suppose I can’t.” Her smile, meant to be friendly, unfortunately fell flat. “Captain Erro’ar is fine, he insisted that we couldn’t keep him to rest another day and headed off to his post—with a reduced schedule, of course. He is following up with Doctor Lend to ensure there are no lingering ill effects,” she paused, wincing as she continued, “no  _ unexpected _ lingering ill-effects. From what we can see, he will be just fine, back to normal within a week or two. If I may be honest, if he  _ didn’t _ head off to work as soon as he was physically able, I would be more worried.”

A soft chuckle left Nadja’s lips. “He’s very dedicated. I’ve found that getting guards to actually enjoy their work is a nightmare.”

“He’s quite good at what he does, and I can only hope he takes pride in it.” Malaidor couldn’t help the note of pride in her voice, only redoubled when she realized it was there, unforced and natural. “If anything, I would hope that he dedicates himself  _ less _ to his work. As much as I can admire his loyalty and tenacity, I am far from the biggest supporter of the lengths of his shifts.”

Graeus’s hum was thoughtful. “You could always mandate him to rest more.”

“As if he would listen to me.” Their disbelieving, startled laughs were worth the crassness with which Malaidor delivered the line. “He would make a show of it, of course, and then I would find a new report sitting on my desk in the middle of the night when he thought I had gone to sleep. The cleverness of his plan fades somewhat when I, too, am awake at odd hours, doing work.”

Groaning, Nadja let her face split into a grin. “Everyone always talks on how it must be the life to be the leader of a dynasty, but when we discuss the work, those wagging tongues turn tail and run. I can only imagine how much worse it must be on the throne.”

“I have two hundred years of backlog to work through.” Her voice was wry, fingers tapping a merry tune on the wood of her armrest. “But otherwise, everything is going well. I have never been more grateful to have my husband at my side. I don’t think I would be able to manage had we not split the workload.”

“And how is he?” Graeus lowered his tone, as if asking after a sick dog. “That party couldn’t have been good for him.”

It would be too much to lie through her teeth, so Malaidor compromised with a simple “He’s fine”. If they wanted to speak about her husband, then they could do it with him present, at the very least. Malaidor had never been one to gossip, and her husband was not a topic one often told tales about.

“I have been ensuring that he isn’t too hard on himself, either. Clearly, he never intended this to come out like it did.” Folding her hands in her lap, she traced the ridges of her glove’s lacy hem with an idle thumb.

Nadja nodded, sympathetic. “I can only imagine. The King has always been quite a private person; I’m sorry that it turned out like this.”

“What has happened, happened.” Was all Malaidor could bring herself to say on the matter, even though the very thought filled her mouth with copper.

Adjusting his position, Graeus tightened his grip, knuckles white. “I will give you a report as soon as my personal investigation is finished. I cannot begin to explain how sorry I am, and how completely and utterly unacceptable what Terioak did was. I hope both you and your husband can have it in your hearts to forgive my family for our oversight. I…” he rubbed at his temple, as if fending off a headache. “I know not what you intend for Terioak but do know that I will stand by your decision.”

Well, that certainly came as a shock. Even after all his proclamations and suggestions, few would expect the leader of the Kadrios dynasty to so quickly support reforms, going so far as to side with an Oridion against a member of his own dynasty. Scandal would erupt, but who was going to go against not one, but two dynasty heads?

Nadja remained silent, though it didn’t seem like she would fight either of them on something like this. Instead, her fingers picked at her well-manicured cuticles, nervously stripping away dead skin. A little bead of blood pooled where she had ripped away a chunk, but she didn’t pay it any mind.

“I have my worries, though.” Her voice was quiet, as if she were the loner here.

Tilting his head slightly, Graeus turned his attention to her, his look prompting her to continue.

“I don’t have anything concrete, but I’ve heard some rumors. Terioak was speaking with members on the outskirts of the Seli’in dynasty, the Kadrios, too. The only reason he didn’t go for the Ordions is likely because… well…” she gestured to Malaidor, “it’s rather hard to turn two people against each other, especially under these circumstances.”

A frown settled over Malaidor’s face. “What was he saying, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“That’s what I don’t understand.” Nadja folded her arms, one foot tapping against the legs of her chair. “He wanted to make ‘them’ afraid, though I don’t know who ‘they’ are. Something about a mother goddess, something about monsters, it didn’t make all that much sense to me. Their connections, too. Their connections came up a lot, from what I’ve been told. He called himself the true dauphin and meant to take the throne from you, but I dismissed it as nonsense.”

Ice ran through Malaidor’s veins. “He was attempting to threaten the Children of Illit?”

The Elven woman blinked at her, surprised. “Yes, that was the name, if I recall correctly. I wasn’t aware you were familiar with many underground groups.”

“They…” how to put this in a non-treasonous light… “They aren’t so much an underground group as a band of people from the kyanis. Reikyani, specifically. Illit is a goddess worshipped there by the victims. She’s known as the Mother of Monsters, though she has a myriad of names. It’s a sister group to the Knights Divine, if you know of them.”

Graeus nodded. “Vaguely; I fear I haven’t had much time to spend studying the kyani temples that formed. Is Illit’s group more powerful?”

“It’s the strongest as of right now. They’re most known for their efforts with bringing families together, but they used to break into camps and fight their battles like that. Many of Illit’s children aren’t actually from Reikyani but from other, smaller camps that were liberated. A lot of their efforts were concentrated on the coast and the Northwest. I…” her voice cracked, “I would not want them challenged. They have been an invaluable resource for helping victims from the kyanis find homes and communities, but they wouldn’t hesitate to resort to vigilante justice.”

“Mother of Monsters…” Nadja murmured. “That doesn’t bode well. I’ll see if I can find more information on this, but I likely won’t find anything important.”

Nodding, Malaidor drummed her fingers against her armrest. “I can send a message to them; better that they have a warning before warring in the streets. I would really rather not have Illit’s power running amok. I can only imagine the chaos.”

Graeus’s head jerked up, “They’re  _ patroned _ ?”

“Nearly all of the kyani temples are.” A cloud of confusion passed over Malaidor’s face. “I was under the impression that this was common knowledge. Nearly everyone in a kyani temple is patroned, though their contacts aren’t necessarily. Why did you think it was so hard to locate the leaders of the Lost Ones, or fight the Knights Divine in their vassal state? Did you think that the Whispering Hand was just allowed to run around, keeping their smuggling lines open because Essren was that kind?”

“How long have they been patroned for? How long have we known about this?” He sounded so genuinely shocked that Malaidor could have laughed.

Instead, she laced her fingers together and tilted her head. “How did you think they were so successful? This has been in action from the beginning, Lord Graeus. It doesn’t do to underestimate the lengths people will go to when everything has been taken from them. Desperation breeds innovation, and if that innovation means creating and patroning oneself to novel gods, then it seems that this will be the path one takes. The temples are secretive for good reason, you know.”

Nadja rubbed her temple with a palm. “You mean to tell me that Terioak wants to wage a silent war against a slightly unstable order of traumatized, patroned individuals. An order that he knows next to nothing on and will likely not be content to simply lay down and take it? All this after attempting to filch the throne?”

“They would be more likely to revolt than partake in a silent war, especially if someone not as amicable to them as I is seated on the throne.” Though the statement was delivered calmly, Nadja and Graeus both gave her looks of horror. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. This is hardly the worst thing in the world that we’ve faced. They’re far less unstable than the Solaqen Revolt, and they’re more organized. Illit’s Children and the Knights Divine are, at least. The Lost Ones aren’t too keen on politics, so I haven’t worried overmuch about them. They simply want to be left alone, and much of the Whispering Hand had progressed into more legal avenues as the borders opened up. I know a fine young man that runs a travel agency for kyani victims using his connections with the Hand.”

“You  _ know _ one of them?” Graeus hissed. “When were we going to learn of this? This is a massive security risk!”

With a disparaging look, Malaidor leaned back against her chair. “When you left your estate and interacted with the common folk like an ordinary person, you would likely have met one.  _ I _ met Alloq in Essren’s time; he was rather instrumental in my escape from Galailan.”

That got heads turning. Malaidor was more than aware of the rumors surrounding her initial disappearance. Only a handful of people knew the true story of how she had escaped the dungeons and they had played enough role in it to keep their mouths shut. Galengar wasn’t likely to elaborate on how they had hidden in supply carriages, nor about their exploits in the Solaq. In the absence of information, gossip and theory spread like oil on water. Tragically for them, Nadja and Graeus wouldn’t be getting anything new on the story, though. Not today.

“Now, unless there’s anything else important that we should discuss, I must take my leave. I must sit for my audiences, and then, I promised my husband that we would have a nice chat over his work. If it is amenable to everyone, I would recommend a weekly meeting. Please send me times that would work for you all, and we will be able to finalize a schedule.”

Rising, Malaidor adjusted her clothing. The dynasty heads simply nodded, exchanging their goodbyes with her. As she walked down to the throne room, flanked by her escorts, she couldn’t help but feel proud at how that had gone.

A conversation in which all parties left understanding the issue better, prepared to meet at a later time, it was all she could have asked for. With any luck, the three of them could actually start ruling together, rather than making their own individual decisions and hoping that the other didn’t set plans in motion to unmake them. Things would certainly progress much faster.

Her audiences went quickly. Oftentimes, it was much of the same with these—many of the petty nobles had similar complaints to one another, this time about the new modifications to tax code threatening their claims to their lands. Lands that, under the new ruling, hadn’t been upkept in decades. Call her old fashioned, but if someone wanted a tract of land, they should at least have the wherewithal to upkeep it. Then again, people had different opinions. Time passed fast enough, with her nodding along and making note of the main points people disliked.

Before long, it was time to hunt down her husband. An attendant informed her that he wasn’t in either of their chambers, and he hadn’t requested a guard to go for a walk. Then again, he rarely asked for people to accompany him on his outdoor excursions. The man liked his peace and quiet, something Malaidor couldn’t fault him for. More and more, solitude grew harder to find. People wanted the ear of the royals, whether the royal wanted to give it or not.

She found him in the library, sorting through books. It was strange, seeing him so comfortable, not a care in the world about anyone interrupting his work. Perhaps this would prove to be something more regular, him spending his time outside of his chambers and toiling away in the library. The Gods only knew how much he needed the fresh air and people around him.

As if sensing her approach, Galengar looked up and shot her a smile, pushing some of his books away to make space for her. Economic treaties, she noted. Ordinarily, he would send for these, but it was good that he felt at ease enough to pick them out himself. It would certainly save time, with the trip from his chambers to his library and back every time he forgot something. Perhaps she could entice him to actually speak with some of the patrons here, too. An event for the individuals frequenting the royal libraries. Something with the kids. Having Galengar visit a school for deaf individuals would be so good for public relations, even if he wasn’t himself deaf. Having someone to sign with would do wonders for him.

‘Mor, sorry I missed you last night. There were far too many meetings, but I think they went well,’ he signed as she sat down, cheer evident on his face. ‘For once, people seem to actually listen to what I say, so I hope this keeps up.’

Folding her hands on the table, she did her best to match his energy. “That’s certainly good to hear. How have things been in regards to…”

To the nightmare he must be experiencing. ‘Surprisingly well! I know we were planning for a small uproar, but Nadja and Graeus both asked for an audience yesterday—and it’s very weird to sit for audiences without you and Hastion, by the way—and they made sure to say explicitly that this changes nothing and that they still respect me and all that.’ A soft chuckle slipped from his lips. ‘I mean, it isn’t like they were going to wait on us hand and foot after this, right? But it’s still good to know that we won’t be fighting them as well if we need to make a policy decision.’

“That is… better than we anticipated.”

Nodding, Galengar continued. ‘There was an issue with a few of the petty nobles, but I put them straight quickly enough. It’s incredible how loose their tongues are around their king. We might want to revisit the way the petty families’ lands are structured later, too. I don’t think some of them have properly cared for their territory in decades.”

“I can look into that.”

‘Oh, it’s alright.’ His smile made her heart skip a beat. ‘I can take care of it. I was actually thinking of incorporating Nadja and Graeus more into power, considering we all have the same social views and they were pretty clear that they wanted to help out. It would be nice to have a couple of extra eyes, and it isn’t productive to keep them on busywork when we  _ do _ have their extended families and the petty nobles to put to task. A lot of the issues we’re running into with workload can be solved with just a bit of restructuring.’

She blinked at that. “It seems like you’ve thought about this a lot. What would you need to make it a reality?”

‘Well, your support, for one thing. That, and either Nadja or Graeus. Just one is strictly necessary, and if the other complains, we can field that. The only challenge is being convincing enough.’ With a sigh, he crossed something out on his list, evidently deciding against it.

“I think you would be able to do it. Honestly,” he gave her a disbelieving look, “you’re quite the speaker. For people that understand sign, you have a magnificent silver tongue. You could probably talk a coup out of happening, provided you had enough motivation. I would be more surprised if both of them refused wholesale.”

Rolling his eyes, Galengar gave her a dry smile. ‘You have too much faith in me.’

“I have the perfect amount of faith in you. How are the new treaties going?” She pulled a few sheets closer her way, scanning over proposals and budgets.

Characteristically, he brightened at that. Gods and men was she lucky that her husband had a head for sums, even if he didn’t fancy being responsible for economic policy all that much. Listening to him ramble about his new ideas regarding the domestic sphere was  _ far _ preferable to actually coming up with the decisions and balancing the budget to ensure they didn’t break the kingdom’s bank. Perhaps she needed more practice in that department, but there were only so many hours in the day. In short, the treaties were going well.

Jovial, Galengar handed her a few folders. ‘I was going to have these sent to you, but you’re here now so… might as well save an attendant the time. How was Hastion’s appointment? I got a short summary from Doctor Lend as we always do, but I only skimmed it, something about blockers and to let her know about any adverse reactions.’

“I haven’t seen him yet, not since this morning.” She hesitated, the words sticking to the tip of her tongue. “I… I have something important to tell you.”

His hands stilled, face expecting good news. Gods and men, she couldn’t do this, not with him looking at her so damned cheerfully. Despite everything, this had been his first good day in what must have been months; sure, all that could have possibly gone wrong did, but he had survived it. His nightmares had come to pass, and he had withstood them. Clearly, he found that calming, empowering even. No one could touch the Sun King of Galailan, not unless they dared to defy three dynasties.

And yet, she found her words drying up on her tongue, the trains of thought braking on their paths just so that their conductors could wave their hats and flip her off for the very idea of  _ insinuating _ that she have a rational, if emotionally loaded, conversation with her husband. What kind of wife was she that she couldn’t even address her worries, her joys and sorrows. In the moment, she had been so convinced that Galengar would find this alright, that he would understand when she told him. Now, though? Now it felt as if she had been ordered to inform him his childhood dog died.

Rationally, she knew he would accept it and be happy for her—for them both, but emotions got the best of her. An anticipated rejection made her stomach do little flips under the table, anxiety bubbling up out of the corners of her mind.

‘Mor?’ He signed, tapping the table in front of her. ‘Are you home, or are you out to lunch?’

Blinking, she steeled herself. “I’m here, sorry. I got a bit lost in thought, I guess.”

‘You said you had something important to say.’ He prompted.

Right. Joy of joys. “I... ah… well…” Her heart felt like it was going to hammer out of her chest and paint them both in blood and viscera. “I figured out something!”

The excitement in her voice rang horribly false and forced to her ears, so much different than what her therapist had her practice, but Galengar beamed at that, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I figured out that I can do a couple of specific touches without flashbacks. I’ll be bringing it up with my therapist, but I think her exercises are helping.”

Galengar smiled at her like the sun, so bright that she might go blind if she looked directly at him. ‘That’s incredible! I’m so proud of you! What are the touches?’

“How about I show you later. It wouldn’t do to give the more chaste people here heart attacks. I think that Sair Hen would drop right dead at seeing something like that.” With as much fondness as she dared, she brushed her gloved fingers against his. “I’m rather excited about it, and I wanted to make sure you knew for our exercises later this week.”

‘As you should be! It’s great that you’re getting your life back!’ He gasped, hands going to his mouth in the moment as he mouthed, ‘I’ll ask the kitchens to make a cake. You’ve earned it—we’ve all earned it, but you especially. We can celebrate! Invite Hastion, too!’

Biting back a shy smile, Malaidor slid some of the papers back his way. “Is it going to be like how you were planning a party for Hastion to commemorate his one-year anniversary? It slipped completely by the wayside, you know. You’re a month late.”

All the motion in Galengar’s form stopped as he did the mental math to the same conclusion. ‘Fuck.’

“Oh, I really don’t think he noticed. He’s never brought it up to me.” She soothed, though ineffectually.

‘I can… I can do a belated thing. I just need to get through these reports and then work with what Illit’s Children gave me, and then I’ll be free for the night. That’s feasible, isn’t it? But yes, on Graeus and Nadja, I think that would be a good plan to give us some breathing room. Essren might have put off all his work, but we don’t have that option. I’d be alright with whatever you decide, though. I just think it might be a good idea.’

With all that prodding, Malaidor got the distinct impression that perhaps her husband wanted to bring up splitting the workload with Nadja and Graeus. “You have my blessing to speak with them about it, though I doubt you need it at this point.”

Even still, he beamed at her. ‘Alright, thank you! And again, congratulations on the touch therapy working, that’s amazing!’

No response came to mind, so all she could do was nod, watching him work for a brief period of time as she attempted to muster up the courage to tell him the other news. It would be alright—he would be alright. Nothing bad would happen, and they would all move on like they should have from the very beginning. This wouldn’t even be the first time they had shared someone, so why was this so difficult? Simply because he had Hastion first?

Words failed her once again, drying up like a creek in the summer. Alright. That was alright. She could cope with that. It took two people to have wild, raucous sex, and so it could take two people to tell her husband about this. It wasn’t even that big a deal, right? If he could date Hastion, was there a reason she shouldn’t be able to? That would be ridiculous, considering their very legal, very official marriage.

“I’ll have to be going now, I’m sorry.” She said, after a time.

Galengar glanced up at her, nodding as he wrote something down on the paper without looking. ‘Have a good afternoon, then. Will I see you for dinner?’

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The platitude was coppery on her tongue, stinging with a tinge of betrayal.

No, she wasn’t betraying him. She was just figuring out how to tell him so that no one involved freaked out and got the wrong idea. It would take a second, of course. It might even take a minute. No one had ever claimed that Malaidor was the pinnacle of calm and clear speech, less so when she was both on a time crunch and unsure of what script to follow for this interaction. Very few people needed to tell their husband that they were fucking his boyfriend.

When he beamed up at her, all sunny and vibrant, she felt that horrendous pit sink further into her stomach. It was less nausea and more dread, specifically, and that made it all the worse. That uncertainty, that unease, it sickened her like a physical illness.

Stepping away, she said her goodbyes and headed off, her escorts following her along the path to her chambers. As she entered the royal wing, though, she dismissed them. No need, really, considering the absurdly high population of guards and servants here. Few people would dare carry out an assassination in the royal wing, considering it was the best protected section of the palace. Arcana and good old-fashioned construction turned it into an elegant bunker, ready to withstand just about anything the world could throw at it. A blessing to the ancients for thinking of their descendants’ safety.

Attendants bowed to her politely as she passed, though after a while of that, Malaidor opted to head down the less populated routes. People could just be so much, especially after a long day. No doubt, there would be more to do, but a respite was quickly proving itself quite necessary, even as her chambers grew nearer.

A familiar face rounded a corner, a binder open in his hands as he skimmed through the reports he had been given. When he glanced up, Hastion smiled at her, looking significantly less gaunt and deathly. The slight wobble in his step was gone, as was that squinting look when the light turned bright. He looked to be the pinnacle of health, if for a little bandage over one brow, pressed down over a bruise to hide the scabbed-up cut on his eyebrow.

“Oh, good afternoon.” He sounded surprised to see her. “Don’t let me be a bother, Sir.”

Without thinking, Malaidor grabbed his arm and pulled him into a storage closet beside them, grateful that there was no one around them to see her lapse of control. This conversation would have to take place privately and having him visit her rooms would be too much of a potential scandal, especially after everything. Thankfully, Hastion didn’t resist, allowing himself to be pulled away and into a dark, enclosed space without complaint.

“Aren’t I glad to run into you.” Malaidor said, closing the door behind her. “We have important things to discuss.”

Shooting her a confused look, Hastion opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. “In a supply closet, Sir?”

“Malaidor.” The correction came automatically. “We aren’t in public, so you can call me Malaidor.”

“I’m still in uniform, Sir.”

Taking a step forward in the cramped space, she let her hands wander over his broad shoulders. The royal colors looked  _ good _ on him. “We can change that, but that isn’t important right now.”

He bit his lip and nodded, eyes drawn to her ample chest as it pressed into his. Fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket, his response was breathy. “Of course.”

Oh, she could never resist that serious, submissive face, no matter how familiar it would surely grow. Cradling his cheek, Malaidor pressed her lips to his, reveling in how he sighed into her like they were meant for one another, letting himself be pressed against the wall by the taller woman. His strong form yielded to her easily, allowing her thigh to slip between his legs as his hands wandered down to her waist.

Breaking the kiss, Malaidor did her best to ignore the way he feathered his lips against her neck, her jaw, her ear, far too tempting for his own good. “We won’t keep hiding around, you know that.”

“I’m not the one that shoved you into a storage closet and suggested getting our clothes off.” He quipped.

“Don’t be cruel.” In retaliation, she cupped his crotch through his pants, feeling his cock twitch under her firm touch. “You don’t know how horrid my day was.”

He made a noise of interest, but his breathing sped up in anticipation. Not that she was faring any better, not with his fingers taking some exploratory forays into her own pants.

Giving him one final squeeze before pulling away, Malaidor removed his hands. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him. He gave me that excited look he gets when he thinks things are going well and I… I didn’t want to risk disappointing him.”

“I can do it, then.” Though he didn’t sound pleased with his new task, there was no hesitation in Hastion’s voice. “It’s better if he hears it from you.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, letting one finger drift over the shell of his ear. “How kind of you. I’ll have to repay you.”

With a quiet, cut off sigh, Hastion fought the blush down from his cheeks. “Wanderer, you’re going to break me at this rate. Is it too much to ask for a nap? Is that too insurgent of me?”

“If you’re asking for naps, then I fear I’ve shattered your very being to bits.” A wry, joking air slipped into her tone. “Can you fault me for making good on lost time? It isn’t as if I’ve managed to have fun like this since I was a teenager.”

“I  _ can _ fault you for it when my cock is sore because of your antics.” Dry as his response was, his face belied his fondness for her. “Why don’t you bring this up with your husband, by the way? I’m sure he would love to help you in this department so I can take a nice, long rest in which I neither work nor think about what the fuck I’m doing with this damned investigation.”

Ah, the weight resting on her chest. “I’ll consider it. Also, expect a windfall from Lord Graeus. He feels guilty and is running his own private investigation, so you’re more than welcome to ask him for his information. I’m confident that he won’t deny you and you’ll have my support in any event.”

“Er, thank you.” Genuine surprise clouded Hastion’s features, as if he hadn’t expected this. “Rest assured, I can conduct this investigation on my own—”

Interrupting him, Malaidor gave his ear a light pinch, a thrill of pride running through her as he bit his lip and let his eyes unfocus slightly. “I don’t doubt your skills, Captain Erro’ar, but it would be foolish not to take advantage of all the resources afforded to one, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir. Will do.” His ear twitched in her hand and she loosened her grip. “You can expect something on your desk soon, I’ll see what I can do.”

“I trust that you’re working hard. What did Doctor Lend say? Has she cleared you to be on shift? Is there anything I can help you with?”

Lifting an eyebrow, Hastion flicked one ear in mild, fond annoyance. “I’m fine, as always. As mandated by my contract here, I submitted to the medications to help with the cravings and prevent remittance. Nothing too surprising. I’ll be seeing the counselor here whether I like it or not, but I have a perfectly fine history. It’s aggravating that they had the injections this time, but better those than the patches. Those are a nightmare.”

Malaidor blinked at that. “I fear I am not overly familiar with these treatments.”

“They block the effects of the drugs and give me adverse reactions if I imbibe.” He waved the thought aside, as if this were common knowledge. “Most of the time I have pills, but they don’t want me taking those because of the ‘temptation to halt treatment’. And before you ask, no. I have not been high since I joined the staff here, aside from the occasional glass of wine—but I was never an alcoholic. That wasn’t an issue for me.” The words came out like he was trying to convince her.

Calm as ever, Malaidor nodded. “I see. If it becomes one, be sure to let me know. I would hate to make you uncomfortable. You still haven’t answered my question: is there anything you need?”

“Er, no, I’m alright with the current situation.” That odd, surprised look was back.

There was little headway she would make on that. Her husband had spent plenty of time trying to make Hastion more comfortable, to no avail. “Alright, just let me know if there is. I suppose I have to set you free now.”

“I suppose so.” He chuckled at that. “Have a pleasant day, Sir. I’ll be off to bother the investigators once you let me off of this wall.”

With a start, she realized she still had him pinned there, his hands resting on her hips in a vain attempt to support his weight. Pulling back in the cramped space, she did her best to look sufficiently sheepish.

“My apologies. I’ll… I’ll head off now.”

Awkwardly, she exited with as much dignity as she could, putting herself in the headspace for more meetings as best she could. Galengar was right, getting Nadja and Graeus involved would theoretically lighten the workload for all of them and put all the dynasties on the same page. Less policy decisions would be challenged, and they would be able to present a united front without stepping on any toes. It was a great idea, if they could grow to trust one another enough to let it function well, of course.

Well, there was always time to pen a missive or two. As Malaidor sat in yet another meeting room, awaiting the delegate from the Draconic Autonomous Region—a woman who, despite her prim politeness constantly ran late—she requested a pen and paper. No time like the present, of course.


	25. 2-3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's coming up Galengar!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lateness! i was doing Birthday Stuff lol

Today was a good day. That was Galengar’s executive decision. The afternoon sun was shining bright in the sky, and Pet was having a wonderful time in the early fall air as she spent the day in the groves dotting the palace lands. Ezkei had joined in on the merriment, turning her face up to the dappled sunlight blanketing the meadow with her eyes closed, enjoying the pleasant weather. Her shoes abandoned in favor of walking through the grassy grove barefoot, she didn’t seem to mind the slight undress, considering the still-temperate temperature.

Dragons tended to like that, Galengar noted. They liked to feel closer to nature, and if it meant that they stripped down some to do it, then some social niceties were going to be thrown out of the window. In all honesty, it was surprising how the previous palace staff had managed to convince even the more nudist-prone dragons to cover up the essential bits, if only because of the sheer amount of horrified stares they would be subject to otherwise.

“This is nice,” Ezkei rumbled, lips turned up in a smile as she glanced back at him. “I so rarely get to take in the outdoors like this, especially on the coast. Your weather can be very nice, especially between the hurricanes.”

A silent chuckle slipped out of Galengar’s mouth, his lips curving into a smile. ‘I would hope that it’s nicer than up in the mountains. It can get so frigid up there in the winter. It’s a wonder how you all deal with it.’

She shot him a wry look. “Fireplaces, mostly. Fireplaces and hot packs and blankets. We dragons have learned a thing or two from Mother Winter that you could stand to.”

Ah, the perennial issue of the drafty palace. If Ezkei had her way, the entire capital would reek of woodsmoke, every house sweltering as the fire heartily crackled in early fall. There were only so many hearths to light before the more mammalian denizens started to complain, and so the dragons instead wore sweaters and jackets, despite the warm weather. The issues of a multi-species meeting area, evidently.

Pet perked up, letting herself fall flat on her back on the soft grass. ‘Always cold in the mountains?’

Shaking her head, Ezkei leaned on her arms behind her. “No, not always. The winters can be brisk, but the summers are very nice. Then again, it would never get as warm as it does here; the coast can be temperamental, but pleasant, especially in the spring and autumn. The summer…” she gave them a friendly wince. “I can’t call myself the biggest fan of the hurricanes. Those are the only storms I wouldn’t consider flying through.”

‘Not too bad.’ Her leg kicked out as Pet signed. ‘Don’t like the rain, but the wind is fun. Like the upper drafts. Quiet in a loud way. Don’t have to listen for things on the ground or on my back.’

Essren’s initiative for war dragons had been both ill-conceived and ill planned. Only Pet had been left, forgotten and forlorn in the dungeons. Grief lanced through Galengar’s heart at how much she had lost, never to recoup. A childhood and family, all sacrificed in the name of a ruler who didn’t care if she lived or died in a senseless battle. But Pet was happy. It was remarkable just how easily she smiled nowadays, perfectly content to chat with someone or take a flight around the city. Stretching her wings was a luxury she hadn’t had often, after all.

“You’re far braver than I could be.” Ezkei was saying. “I don’t mind currents and thermals, but once we start talking about storms, I’d rather give that task to the Stronghold dragons. They’re far better at it than I. Not too many hurricanes to face in the Moonraker mountains.”

Galengar lifted an eyebrow. ‘Well, you never know. Maybe one of these days, there’ll come a hurricane to your neck of the woods.’

A snort burst out of her as she covered her mouth, laughing. “Oh, yes. I will see the day the Moonraker range and the Northwest Territories are flooded by the world’s largest hurricane in my nightmares. Quite remarkable of it to hit so deep inland, after all. It would be such a shock to Centrailia, too, so you better hope my prophetic dreams don’t come to pass.”

‘I’ll pray to the gods.’ He joked, letting a matching smile cross his face. ‘Perhaps they can spare us all from the everstorm, doomed to plague the planet for centuries to come.’

Pet tilted her head, giving them odd looks. ‘Everstorm a myth, yes?’

Ezkei’s expression turned thoughtful. “I believe so, yes. You would have to ask the Stronghold dragons about it, though. I know Clanlord Lirrra is familiar with it, but I am the wrong person to ask about this. I would be more than happy to make introductions, though.”

Nodding, Pet ran her fingers through the grass in lieu of speaking more, her eyes fixed on the great blue expanse above her, sunlight glinting through the leaves.

‘I fear I don’t know all that much about Draconic myths.’ Galengar admitted, keeping the conversation going. ‘I’ve always meant to read more but between everything in the Northwest and my duties as king…’

The dragon woman sent him a sympathetic look. “I fear I’m the same way regarding the Northwest. So many myths to learn, and yet so little time to read them. Say, I never asked: are you religious? I pray you don’t find the question invasive; I’ve just found the Northwest to be a rather mixed bag these days.”

‘Oh, it’s alright.’ A smile put things at ease. ‘I’m not, no. Queen Malaidor is far more devout than I, but I’ve been known to rattle off a prayer or two to a god. I’ll be honest, I wish I had more time to celebrate and visit the soothsayers, but again, I only have so many hours in my day.’

She nodded, adjusting her headscarf. “I can understand that. To each their own practice, but if you ever want someone to come with you, I am more than interested in learning. It’s surprising that the Elven Queen follows the Great Gods, rather than the Creation Trinity. She is from the coast, isn’t she? I would recall an Oridion born so far away from their historic center.”

Gal had to laugh at that, shoulders bouncing. ‘I managed to turn her to my side, somehow. She asked a few questions, I made a couple of introductions, and the next thing I know, she’s celebrating Adrivak’s Feast with me and sitting with the soothsayers for the face paint and blessings.’

Returning his smile, Ezkei stretched out in the grass. “It’s quite sweet when things are like that, isn’t it? I don’t mean to pry into your relationship, but it seems that you two are made for each other.”

‘Oh, you know it isn’t like that.’

“But you’d like it to be, wouldn’t you?” Her eyes glinted with a secretive light. “There’s no need for embarrassment, you know. Your feelings are perfectly acceptable.”

All Galengar could think to do was ignore the way his stomach lurched at that. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Queen Malaidor and I have a perfectly happy and stable marriage.’

With a roll of her eyes and a matching huff, Pet rose, wandering off to look at the flowers growing at the edge of the grove, uncaring how her robes slipped down to expose her bare shoulders. She was polite like that, knowing when a personal conversation was happening and leaving people to it. Few in the palace would have granted Galengar this small mercy.

Ezkei hummed in acknowledgement. “I didn’t mean it that way and you know it. Let’s not play foolish games. You can talk to me.”

‘I’m growing rather sick of people telling me that I can talk to them.’ He grumbled, letting himself flop back onto the grass. Little glimmers of light stung in his eyes as the wind rippled across the leafy canopy. ‘And my marriage is perfectly happy.’

“That’s twice in the same breath you’ve called your marriage perfect.” A thrum of curiosity edged into her voice.

‘I speak only the truth.’

Letting out a noise of assent, Ezkei drew her legs in to sit cross-legged. “Then pray tell, do you love your wife more than you expected? It can often be the case with marriages like yours; the parties fall in love later on, rather than immediately. It takes work, after all.”

Galengar remained silent, trying to push those traitorous thoughts out of his mind. If he loved Malaidor—loved her more than a friend, then he would be jeopardizing the partnership they had worked so hard to set up. She might feel uncomfortable about that, enough to slow down the progress they strove towards. If she couldn’t speak to him candidly… their union would only suffer. Their union suffering meant their nation suffering, though.

“I see.” The dragoness said, as if his silence had been one great confession. “There isn’t any need to be ashamed, you know. Both of you are so young, it’s only natural that you would grow closer. If my opinion matters at all, I recommend you tell her. I have a feeling that she feels the same way.”

‘How do you know.’ The words burst from Galengar’s hands like he was still a teenager, pining over yet another inconsequential crush with his friends.

Ezkei chuckled at that. “She looks at you with such affection and kindness. Most can’t see it, but I remember when she was just a little tyke. Maker, you elves grow up so fast. When you’re in the room, she lights up and it’s as if I am speaking with an entirely different person. You make her better, and she knows it on some level, if not consciously.”

Letting his eyes wander skyward, Galengar presented himself with the last shreds of dignity he had. ‘But you might be wrong, and then everything starts crumbling and tearing itself apart. I’m not going to ruin everything she’s worked so hard to build up, not with something as insignificant as feelings.’

“I wouldn’t call feelings insignificant. The best empires were built off of a few well-placed emotions, you know. Most unions are based on feelings, rather than logic. Emotions give us strength and life, even if we don’t think we have them or think they’re important. How does a scholar work without passion for a subject? How does a soldier fight without loyalty to his homeland?” Distantly, she ran her fingers through the grass. “When my wife died, I was inconsolable. Those were my greatest territorial gains, but at the cost of immeasurable grief.”

As he opened his mouth to retort, Ezkei cut him off.

“Don’t you tell me that it’s different because I am a dragon, or powerful, or was in love from the beginning, because it doesn’t matter. You have the same capacity for emotion as I, be it in a different form or no. Your feelings matter just as much as mine, just as much as your wife’s. I will not humor anything else.”

With a sigh, Galengar acquiesced to her demands. Ezkei wasn’t a person one wanted to argue with, not if one wanted to leave the discussion feeling like they had won something. ‘On a different note, when are you planning to take in Pet? I would really rather not have her fly over the mountains after the winter storms settle in. She hasn’t had enough practice to make her way through Tlakon’s Pass, not on her own wings, at least.’

Nodding, Ezkei watched Pet sniff flowers and run her fingers over tree bark, transfixed by the textures. “Likely either in the middle or end of next month. I think she would do well with the trip, and I have contacted my clan to let them know she will be coming to stay. If you’d like, I could discuss further with her after you leave. I wouldn’t mind walking her back to her chambers.”

‘I wasn’t aware you were familiar with the Agro’opoli.’ Galengar blinked at her, brows drawing together. ‘And you’re welcome to ask the guards, I would hate to make you uncomfortable. I know the dungeons can be eerie and unsettling.’

She only shook her head. “It’s quite alright, I don’t mind at all. I know you must have all sorts of work to get done, so I would hate to take up so much of your time.”

‘You aren’t, I quite enjoy spending time speaking with you.’

Cutting him off, Ezkei chuckled. “As do I, but let us both be honest. You have to spend your time elsewhere, and that is perfectly alright. Sometimes other things need your ever-split attention, and I understand that I am of a lower priority than, say, economic policy meetings. If I had something urgent for you, then you would know. I recall you mentioning something about having your afternoon booked to your escort…”

She trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks. It took him a while to get used to that, her lilting method of speaking, with its strategic gaps and teasing insinuations, like a secret code only the two of them knew. For a long, long while, Galengar had found her difficult and irreverent to speak with, never mind when it was needed to plan out meetings and strategy with her. Now, though? Now she was a treasured friend.

With a silent laugh, he nodded, sitting up. ‘Yes, yes. You’re very right, as always. I would hate to cut this meeting short, but I fear I will be running late. Then again, I could always reschedule…’

“Am I really worth that much to you?” Genuine amusement laced her voice. “Please, let us not be ridiculous. I will still be here, even if you skip an afternoon with me. I will likely be here to see your casket put in the ground, provided the Draconic Autonomous Region remains friendly with Galailan.”

He couldn’t help the way his smile turned forced at the mention of his own death. It was true, of course, but no one ever wanted to think about how they would die, now did they? Sometimes, he managed to forget that Ezkei was already five centuries old, set to live another five more, even if her life was cut short in her older years. Middle aged, by Draconic standards, and a skeleton gathering dust, in any other species’ opinions.

“Oh, I am sorry dear.” She was soothing, giving him a sympathetic look. “I forget sometimes. You will be alright, I know it. Now go, have your meeting. I will take Pet home, and it won’t be any trouble to me. It’s far preferable to wandering the grounds alone—save for Clanlord Lirrra, there are so few people to speak with.”

‘How have you found her?’ The question slipped off of Galengar’s fingers before he could help it. ‘My apologies if that’s insensitive, but I know some thought she was a bit…’

“Cold?” Ezkei finished for him, mirthful.

Nodding, Gal shot her a sheepish smile. ‘Not my words, if I may defend myself.’

“Oh, I believe that. You were never one to judge a book by its cover. Or emotional openness, in this case. No, I haven’t found her to be cold, simply reserved. She may not be the most outgoing of people, but that can be quite understandable in her line of work. We have had a few wonderful conversations regarding a trade partnership, actually. Fish for stone, jewels for pearls, the like. The clan has been hankering for some access to the ocean, so her coming was quite the godsend.”

Of course they got along. It had been silly to think otherwise; two successful clan heads, both known for their interest in trade and peace, clearly would find plenty to agree upon when they suddenly found themselves far from home and the only dragons for half a day’s flight out.

Rising, Galengar stretched his legs. ‘It’s wonderful to hear that you two have found a friend in each other. I suspect I’ll be hearing about the Stronghold Mountains and the Draconic Autonomous Region in the same breath more often.’

In lieu of words, Ezkei simply laughed, waving her farewell as Galengar bid Pet goodbye. The younger dragon waved back, her movements much less clumsy than they had been previous. Soon enough, he was on his way back into the palace, his escort—a Humanish woman dressed in a pale yellow and silver uniform—falling in beside him without a sound.

He walked them both to the meeting rooms in the busier side of the palace, far enough from the royal quarters that he debated sending someone for his things afterwards. It would be so much quicker to simply use the library than trudge all the way back there, only to spend his time cramped at his desk. Plus, Hastion was off his guard detail today, focusing more on the current investigation. It would be so boring without someone to talk to.

The thought caught him off guard, pun not intended. How long had it taken him to get used to his captain there, three weeks? Four? Standing in silence had grown odd, the absence of the man’s strong presence beside him all the more noticeable. They had inside jokes now, exchanged with looks as Hastion edited Galengar’s signs to include less explicatives or chose the more respectful translation. With him, Galengar could use slang, rather than the overly formal sign most interpreters understood.

Smoothing down his clothing as he walked, he almost turned to the interpreter to ask if he had grass stains on his ass. Well. He would never have lived that down. He could hear Hastion’s barking laughter in his ears, having a hoot over how comfortable his king had grown with him.

As he entered the spacious room he had been afforded for this talk, he found that his two advisors had already settled in, their binders and folders resting on the ancient wooden table. They leapt to their feet, bowing low in respect the moment they saw him, though. Those two were from Essren’s time, Galengar remembered.

Such a shame that their talents had been wasted on a man who neither cared nor strove for positive public relations. The woman, an elf in her early hundreds, still kept silent for most meetings, as if she were scared to say something wrong and be executed for her mistake, while her partner, an Elven man who had to be one hundred and forty at the oldest, took the danger of speaking upon himself.

Galengar nodded, motioning them to rise and take their seats as he got comfortable in the chair afforded to him. They had already set up a pad of paper and a pen for him to write with, remembering that he was keen on taking shorthand notes to himself during these meetings. He always had ideas during reports and, if he didn’t write them down, they would be gone in a heartbeat. It was also good to have a memory aid, especially when they started rattling off numbers and referencing reports as they did in their usual briefings.

The room around them was nice, well-decorated. Gossamer curtains had been pulled back, letting warm sunlight pour in through stained glass windows depicting the victory of Queen Tanis over the Ryngians in the North. The chairs, too, were remarkably comfortable, enough that, on occasion, Galengar wished he could put his head down on the polished wooden table and nap during meetings, warm and comfortable and, above all else, exhausted.

But no, it was time to speak with his advisors about the latest fiasco. With any luck, they wouldn’t be fighting an uphill battle for respect and the right to rule, especially considering how Nadja and Graeus had thrown their support behind them. Perhaps that would help approval ratings, with the three dynasties working together to preserve peace.

Before they started, Galengar dated the paper, and poured his interpreter a glass of water, reminding her that it was there if she needed it and not to be shy. It could be draining being the king’s voice, and the last thing he wanted was her shredding her vocal cords to bits in the urge to fulfill the demands he placed on her. Once again, he missed Hastion. The man never hesitated to tell him to pause, to let him take a drink before continuing to translate. When one didn’t need to breathe to speak, one quickly forgot how many words that single breath held.

‘Sairs Haddock and Alyss, it’s good to see you today.’ He smiled at the advisors as they perked up, hearts racing in their chests. Even still, after two years, they still treated meetings with him like they were about to be sent to the gallows. ‘I apologize for my lateness; I was caught up in other duties and may have lost track of time.’

His meager attempt at humor was met with overly enthusiastic laughter. Had this really been what Essren wanted? People pretending to laugh at his jokes with fear in their eyes?

“My Lord’s lateness had gone unnoticed. We are honored that our Lord graces us with his presence.” Haddock said, voice only wavering slightly.

Smiling, Galengar tried to seem friendly, efforts that his translator complied with. ‘Oh, you don’t have to do all that. I wouldn’t mind a bit less formality, you know.’

“It would be disrespectful to my Lord.” Sair Alyss whispered, her eyes on the table before her. “It is honor enough that we are graced with his attention.”

His approachable friendliness grew strained at their clear fear. Then again, what could he really expect after two years of this? When was it time to simply give up and let them be as scared of him as they wanted? Gods only knew what they had witnessed under Essren, so what was a bit of cheer and amiability going to do about that? Did he really expect to fix their trauma in such a scant amount of time?

‘Alright, I assume we have much to talk about today. With this in mind, I have set aside a chunk of time, so don’t worry about going over the meeting limit. It won’t be an issue at all.’

Glancing at the translator, Haddock nodded, opening a binder thick with papers. Oh, lovely. That was certainly a lot to get through. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, my Lord. I hope that you will find this meeting elucidating.”

Okay, that was progress. A little less formality, but after so gods-damned long, it was progress. A traitorous flicker of hope filled his chest, just waiting to be snuffed out by reality.

“Well,” biting his lip, Haddock let his eyes stray from his king’s, worried and anxious, “we have good news, and we have bad news. Which would my Lord like to hear first, if either?”

Holding back a sigh, Galengar kept a pleasant look on his face. These had to be his least favorite meetings, if only for how nervy and terrified his advisors were. They jumped and flinched at any sudden facial expression, as if he could strike them down with a thought. Malaidor insisted on keeping them, despite how they had served under Essren, citing that they had connections and knew how this industry worked far better than her. At least they didn’t gossip or waffle about.

In his humble opinion, they weren’t the best at what they did. His wife was leagues of improvement, but she didn’t dare accept that compliment, not behind her back nor to her face. Thus, Galengar was stuck with this pair, two elves who were so scared of him that their hands shook when they took notes.

‘Whichever is most important, I suppose.’ He signed, tapping the butt of his pen against the paper as his interpreter translated.

Their eyes didn’t leave the interpreter as she spoke, her hands clasped politely in front of her, a veil obscuring her face. There may have been a complaint or two about the king using a Humanish to translate his words and escort him from place to place while his personal guard was recovering and busy with the investigation, but these two wouldn’t dare contradict his judgement.

“Good news, then.” The older man laughed more to himself than anyone. Had Galengar had marginally less faith in Haddock, he would have thought the man was trying to soothe himself. “There has been a generally positive reaction to your…er… now-public personal matter. Most are upset that something so private was revealed in this way, and there has been a spike in popularity. Many are now seeing the Oridion’s work in the social sector as a much needed positive, rather than meddling.”

Raising an eyebrow, Galengar scribbled a bit of shorthand down. It was quite odd how neither of them seemed upset that he had hidden this fact from them.

Once he was finished writing, he signed, not bothering to use his usual slang for the interpreter. ‘That’s good to hear. You were reporting that approval ratings were remaining stagnant last month, so it must be nice to see them climbing.’

Hasty nods followed the interpreter’s words. “Yes, my Lord. We are very happy to see that your rule is gaining acceptance as it continues. I would—I would recommend that the Queen and my Lord have a few more public appearances; perhaps speaking on this would help settle things while reassuring the populace. It would do well for you to touch on the camps in a seasonal address and clear up confusion as to what possible solutions are to the issue of…”

Haddock trailed off, as if he had said something damning, his eyes wide. Was that supposed to offend Galengar? That there was an issue of kyani victims integrating back into society? Of course, there was. Who wouldn’t have problems after being in there.

As his king gestured for him to continue, Haddock ducked his head down, ears nearly pressed flat against his head in terror. “Some possible solutions to the traumas withstood by the victims of the kyanis. So far, the therapy initiative has been quite popular, as has the work study programs, Sir. My Lord may want to think about expanding those.”

‘That’s a good idea.’ He already had plans to set that in motion, but it was always good to have a second voice confirming it. Haddock could think it was his idea when it came to pass—gods knew the man needed a confidence boost after decades of rejection. ‘I was wondering if working with the Scholar’s Quarter would be possible. Having a scholarship for kyani victims could be good, especially for those who want to be better educated.’

Blinking at him, stupefied, Haddock nodded vigorously. “Forgive my impertinence, Sir, but I was about to suggest something like that.”

Galengar smiled at him, trying his best for fondness. ‘Oh good. Great minds think alike, don’t they? I’ll send a missive to the head scholar, in that case, see what she can cook up.’

“I would be more than happy to do that for you, my Lord. It wouldn’t be any trouble—”

‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ Calmly, Gal cut him off with a few confident words. ‘It’s been so long since Sair Lattice and I had a word, and I would be more than happy to chat with her, especially if it helps others. She always has such great insights, and it’s quite a shame that I don’t yet have the time necessary to dedicate to adjusting and altering the higher education system.’

With a nod, Haddock flipped a few pages in his binder. “I-I am sure you will be happy to hear that the latest education initiative was taken well, my Lord. There is a higher retention rate in lower income secondary schools and more children have been sent to primary school these last three months than in the previous year combined. There may be an issue regarding slots in higher education, though, especially in the countryside, my Lord. If I may, I would recommend diverting some funds to the—to the building of more higher education facilities.”

‘I’ll see what I have in the budget for that, then. We anticipated this, though not nearly so soon. If you could send a report to the economic advisors, I would be better suited to act quickly.’ Galengar smiled at him as he made a note to do so on his paper. ‘Thank you, if we get on this early, we should be able to refrain from having a shortage. What else? I’m sure there was more.’

Paling, Haddock turned a few more pages. “The bad news, then.”

‘Yes, the bad news.’

“After the party, er,” he cleared his throat, as if trying to find the will to continue, voice growing weak and wavering. “There were some individuals who felt that you were overly harsh with Lord Terioak, my Lord. Some felt that he should not have been detained and that Captain Erro’ar should not be fronting this investigation, as the matter regards both you and him. Then, there is the issue that he was drugged to begin with. Some have seen the palace as unsafe, and thus, will not attend until their safety is ensured. Finally, there seems to be a growing movement against the Oridions.” At that last bit, his voice was nothing more than a squeak.

Okay. That was bad, but that wasn’t too bad. Galengar had faced worse, and he could deal with this. Lord Terioak, he was the king. He could claim his safety. People would have to accept that, especially when Graeus yielded. Hastion’s investigation could also be handed to Graeus—the results would have more of an impact from his mouth, anyway. Palace safety, that was Hastion’s once more, they could brainstorm something.

‘Growing movement?’ He inquired, the interpreter going above and beyond to try and match his concerned tone.

Haddock ducked his head down, eyes fixed on the table as if he could feel the axe at his neck already. “Several small but vocal groups have banded behind Lord Terioak; it seems that he was already in communication with them, and that he was anticipating his detainment, my Lord.”

Motioning for him to continue, Galengar let himself idly chew on the tip of his pen.

“Ah, there have been some calls for your abdication, but they are in the vast minority, my Lord. I would still be concerned, as this appears to be the most supportive base to Essren. There will be some anxiety about public meetings, as there is an increased risk of assassination during such tumultuous times—” His voice dried up into a creak as Galengar bit off the end of his pen with a loud crack.

He spat out the little chips of wood he had managed to snap loose and resisted the urge to rub at his eyes. For his advisor, he put on as serene an expression as he could. ‘Assassination, alright. If you could please send a file on your concerns to Captain Erro’ar, that would be wonderful. We can plan out more strategic meetings, then. You mentioned that the bulk of the population is still in support of the monarchy—even more in support than previously, yes?’

Haddock nodded, eyes on the wooden pen fragments, like the king would sink his teeth into him should he not give the monarch the answer he wanted. Wonderful. Back to square one it was.

‘Perfect. We can continue on with what was planned before then, albeit with more defense. I would feel bad taking away Captain Erro’ar’s day off, he had been granted it by the Queen, so we won’t have him on the staff the day my wife and I go to the theater. Would an increased guard presence be amenable, or shall we bring him back in? I would hate to go back on my word, but if there is that much danger…’

Swallowing, Haddock laced his fingers together in front of him. “It would not be a horrible idea to have more guards on duty—perhaps you could speak with Clanlord Ezkei if she would like to accompany you, if only to make up for any patroned individuals they might have.”

‘She would have to agree, and on such short notice, too. Can we even be sure that she will be able to get a ticket in time?’ Galengar lifted an eyebrow. ‘And if we invite her, why not the rest of the Draconic consignment? It seems odd to include her and only her.’

“If you trust the other dragons, then I would recommend whatever you think is best, my Lord.” Quietly, he interlaced his hands tighter, knuckles turning white.

With a sigh, Galengar rubbed at his temple. ‘I shall bring it up with my wife and Captain Erro’ar. Is there anything else that needs to be brought to my attention? I’m aware that we’re only a few days out, but is there any other information on these groups, or will there be a report made later this week on my desk?’

“I-I am afraid it will be the latter.” He could see Haddock’s pulse beating out a fast tattoo in his neck. “My apologies, my Lord, but it is as you said: these events have only been happening in the past few days, hours, even. What little information we have needs to be followed up on, and that will take time. I thank you for your patience and understanding, though, Sir. I apologize that I cannot give you more to work with.”

‘Of course.’ Waving off the sentiment, Gal scribbled down a few notes to keep track of on the pad, ignoring how garishly sloppy his handwriting was. ‘Thank you for telling me this. It will be quite important later on, I trust. Will there be anything else, or shall I trust you to schedule a meeting when there is more information.’

It took Haddock a moment to find his words. “I would be willing to schedule subsequent meetings, my Lord. If it is pleasing to you, I could request a joint meeting between domestic defense and my own team. It could be helpful to ensure that everyone is on the same page in regards to this. It would be a great shame to see my Lord fall to an assassin’s blade—Trinity forbid the thought.”

Despite how fearful he sounded, there was an edge of truth in his voice. It surprised Galengar, that this man would genuinely be upset should the king die brutally. A far cry from how people felt about Essren, it seemed that his staff would… miss him… if he died, enough that the thought, not what he would do to their voicing it, was alarming.

His shock must have shown on his face, because Haddock gathered the last shreds of his confidence about him.

“You have been a fair and just king, though your reign has not been long. I have found your rulings to be understandable and justified, as have many of the general populace. I do not believe that this group will find a great deal of supporters, especially once they start speaking with those directly impacted by the crown’s new innovations.” Taking a steadying breath, Haddock looked him in the eye, only trembling a bit.

“I would not be afraid to side with you in the event of a schism, my Lord, and neither would a great deal of the staff. Your rule has been a vast improvement compared to King Essren’s, and that I am not afraid to say such is only a testament to how far you have brought us. I hope that you may find your humble servant a fraction as useful and influential as your decisions have been.”

Confused, Galengar tried for a smile. ‘It’s quite alright, I would never ask you to swear fealty to me. I’m simply not that kind of person.’

“And that is why you are so favored.” Haddock insisted, Sair Alyss nodding along, insistent. “You are the ruler of the common people, and many in the kingdom understand that. It may rub the nobles the wrong way, but the citizenry adores it—adores you. You are much more favored than your wife, if I may say so, my Lord. For all there is talk of sedition, it is the vocal minority, with most perfectly happy to endorse new changes. From what I could find, my Lord is the most well-liked king in millennia.”

He had to blink at that. ‘I’ll be honest, this is rather unexpected…’ Trailing off, he let the words hang in the air.

What did one even  _ say _ in this situation? Thank his advisor for polling people and doing his work? Ask him to work harder? He had never been one to take people for granted, but what did Haddock  _ want _ from him in this case?

“The people love the Sun of Galailan, my Lord.” Haddock’s voice had grown steadier the longer he had gone without rebuttal. “They are those that have deemed you the Sun King, and it would do you well to turn that to our advantage.”

Ah, ‘our’. Galengar’s success would be Haddock’s success; whoever took the throne after his death would be more willing to keep him on staff, and if he performed well in the current environment, he could find himself in the running for a raise. Not that Galengar was stiffing him at all, but money could be a wonderful motivator in uncertain times.

Silently clearing his throat, Galengar sat up straighter in his seat. ‘Sair Haddock, while I appreciate your words, I would much rather keep this nation operating smoothly than restart a cult of personality. If that means I go down in history as a mediocre king, then that is fine by me. What matters is the nation’s recovery. Please get that report to Captain Erro’ar and me soon, though. Thank you for your endorsement and your work, it is quite meaningful. Is there anything I need to be aware of?’

“N-no, my Lord.” Blinking as if trying to decide which emotion to portray, Haddock clasped his hands tight. “It has been an honor to meet with you, and I thank you for your attention. If there is any development, I will endeavor to let my Lord know as soon as physically possible.”

‘Thank you, Sair Haddock and Sair Alyss. May you have a peaceful day.’ Galengar rose as the pair bid him their farewells, motioning to his interpreter that he was ready to leave.

The library would be crowded, he thought as he stepped out of the room, so his chambers would be a necessary alternative. He dismissed the interpreter when he entered the royal wing, giving her his fond farewells. She bowed back and wished him a pleasant day with a smile in her voice and headed off to her next posting without fuss. The guards at the entrance lowered their heads in respect, not bothering to posture as they once would have.

That had irritated him, how in the very beginnings of his rule, the guards would occasionally make as if to intimidate him, attempting to loom above him like he would be cowed by such a useless gesture. Now, though, it seemed they had gotten that thought out of their heads. A few well-placed glares had set them straight. That, and mysteriously lengthened hours, or switches to shifts away from their friends, or the graveyard shifts. They learned rather quickly that the king didn’t stand for such things.

As he picked up his work for the day from his room, Galengar decided against working in his own chambers. He had already been alone for so long this month, so might as well be social with his partners. Padding through the passage connecting their rooms, Gal situated himself in his wife’s room. No harm in that; she had never complained about him working here before and had gone as far as extending a perennial invitation to her rooms since the very start of their union.

It only took a few hours for Malaidor to return, startling a little when she saw him there, already situated with his books and reports. At his cheeky grin, she returned a small smile, stepping aside to let Hastion in. The two of them said all the proper greetings, but something odd still lingered in the air as they settled in.

Silence settled over them all as Malaidor penned a letter and Hastion read through his correspondence, frowning all the while. It was odd; Galengar swore he could have heard a pin drop in the corner, with how those two were holding their breath around him. Did they think he needed to recover more from the party? Between meeting with his therapist and speaking with his advisors, he had been assured that everything was going to be fine, for the most part. Nothing had come in from Nadja or Graeus that was rude in the slightest, so why should he fear a retribution he himself could fight against?

After an uncharacteristically long stretch of quiet, a whistle from him got their attention. ‘What happened? Is something wrong?’

Malaidor seemed to wilt slightly under his question, shifting in her seat and tightening her grip on her pen. “Er, why would you ask? I was under the impression that we were going to do work for the evening, and I didn’t mean to distract you.”

‘Oh, come on.’ Smiling, Galengar leaned back in his chair. ‘We always distract each other, let’s be honest. Normally, we’ll sit quietly for half an hour or so, and then someone will say something, and we’ll all discuss it. It’s been an hour; the sun’s dipping below the horizon. Unless you think those letters to Ilvon officials are particularly engrossing or those reports from other jurisdictions are especially interesting, it feels as if something’s wrong.’

“We were just trying to be respectful.” The excuse rang weak, even from Hastion’s lips. “You have so much work on your plate, and I, at least, would hate to add to it. I would rather you kick me out before I pose a distraction to something so important.”

Rolling his eyes, Gal set his pen down. ‘I don’t mind distractions. If I wanted a completely silent place to do my work, I’d go down into the Agro’opoli and tell it to leave me be. Just tell me, is there something bothering you both? I can see to working on it, if it’s that much of an issue.’

Hastion’s cheeks burned a faint pink. “I… It’s nothing, really. I was simply worried about Lord Nadja’s communiques.” Along with something else he wasn’t telling Galengar, but who was he to press. “She has requested a tea with me, and I fear that I must accept. I wouldn’t want to force your hands in regards to a day off, though, so I was simply trying to determine when I would next be free.”

‘Well you aren’t this weekend.’ Galengar signed, motions smooth. ‘I’ll be going into town to do some shopping, and you’ll be coming with me. I need something nice to wear for the theater that’s more modern, but the stylist isn’t listening to me when I say I want a Northwest style, since he isn’t familiar with the culture. Naturally, I’m taking matters into my own hands. Oh, Mor, could Clanlords Ezkei and Lirrra join us for the play? Sairs Haddock and Alyss were talking about increased security and it would be a good show of alliance with the dragons.’ He didn’t miss how Hastion’s brows drew together, already formulating a response.

His wife’s face settled into a frown. “I could request their presence and cover the costs of their tickets. Hastion, I do expect you to take the day off, rather than merely work in your chambers and imagine that we would not notice.”

Wincing, Hastion ducked his head. “I’ll do what I can. However, it  _ would _ be a good idea if I were to take tea then. What day is it? This month or next?”

‘This month, four days from now. The next Eirikor.’

He nodded. “The twenty-fourth, thank you. I’ll let Lord Nadja know that I will see her then. Is there anything that you would like me to ask about specifically? I don’t know what she will want to talk about, but if her letters are anything to go by, she wants to discuss her… day? I’m not sure why, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

‘Maybe she’s lonely.’ Galengar mused. ‘She has her lover, but it can get very dull when one can only speak freely to the same handful of people. She isn’t as close with her family as Graeus is, either. You might be getting adopted.’

Hastion wrinkled his nose at that but kept silent.

With a shrug, Malaidor stamped her seal on a letter and folded it into an envelope, setting it aside. “Not many in her family would talk to her after the incident with the Dwarven woman, even though it’s been three decades. Fewer still after she took in Avram and bore Hekion. The artistic whims of the Seli’ins have their limits, it seems. Then again, not many were in favor of her taking control of the dynasty, but they didn’t dare argue with the old patriarch. He was a force of nature.”

“Politics.” Hastion groaned, a strain of genuine frustration clear in his voice. “Everything here somehow comes down to politics and posturing.”

A quick, amused exhale sounded from Malaidor as her lips twisted into a faint, droll smile. “Welcome to the palace, where all we do is write reports and posture. People want power, and unfortunately, we happen to stand in the way of that for a great deal of them.”

‘Especially for the petty nobles.’ Galengar added, making a mental note to start going through the people who were no longer eligible for their ranks. ‘Under Essren, the title was hereditary. We changed it so that they have to manage their land to encourage development and environmentalism, and now they hate us. It isn’t like they can do much about that, though. Nadja and Graeus sided with us on that, so going against the ruling would be tantamount to seceding. Considering some of them haven’t upkept their lands for decades, it’s going to be hard to muster anything to fight us.’

“But why?” Came the inevitable question. Sometimes, Galengar envied Hastion’s freedom from these worries; no one was demanding a midnight meeting from him or pulling him out of briefings to complain about land they had entirely forgotten about. “Why bother with it all?”

Malaidor answered for him. “Most of the land is either in northern Centrailia or the Sand Wastes. We would like to see it developed and turned into something productive so that those parts are less dependent on the capital or Northwest Territories’ raw materials. Honestly, it’s quite unlikely that we keep the Northwest in the long run, especially with how different the culture has grown.”

‘If the monetary conversions say anything, the Coiner is going to be strong against the Fleck soon enough.’ Galengar couldn’t help adding, signs a fluid mumble.

Hastion’s brows drew together. “Excuse my ignorance, Sirs, but I didn’t catch that sign. Was it a name?”

‘Coiner?’ The other man nodded at Gal’s repetition. As he fingerspelled it out, Gal explained, ‘It’s the currency out there. Flecks aren’t readily accepted because of past isolationism, so the Northwest merged with the Eragaj system. Golds, silvers, brasses, and coppers. They’re growing stronger against more established nations, especially as the west rebuilds and reestablishes itself.’ With a sigh, Galengar let his eyes trace the intricate carvings on the headboard of his chair. ‘Though there isn’t much hope for the east. The Scorched Lands aren’t too likely to start rebuilding their cities any time soon.’

“I… see.” Hastion said, even though it was rather clear that he did not. “My apologies.”

Shaking his head, the king stretched, feeling his back pop and crack. ‘It’s quite alright. I don’t expect you to be familiar with the intricacies of a region that only just allowed itself to open up to the rest of Galailan. At least we don’t have to worry about grain shortages, so long as the treaties hold up.’

“Fire makes for fertile soil.” His wife’s voice was dark as she repeated the phrase.

It had grown into an idiom as Essren rampaged through the region. Nearly every child from the Northwest knew it, the words seared into their minds with each mourning lament.

_ Fire makes for fertile soil, and char makes for rocking cradles. Out of the ashes and into the fire, we won’t abide. _

Sung over and over, it had been a powerful mantra with the V-B as they fought the Galin troops back. Essren’s army had run screaming when they had emerged from the brush, painted to blend in with the scorched plant life, unwilling to take captives. The Elven Core would know how it felt to have their land—their homeland razed—

“Gal? Did we lose you?” His wife sounded concerned, eyes round with worry.

Blinking, Galengar found himself shaking his head, already signing some excuse. Malaidor didn’t believe him, of course.

“You know,” she started, deceptively slender fingers winding around the armrest of her chair, “you can always talk to me about those times. I’ll understand. People do… desperate things in desperate times, and your actions don’t define who you are now.”

It took everything in him not to burst out laughing at that. Of course, they defined him—how could they not? She claimed to understand based off of the sparse details he had told her and what she could extrapolate from biased reports, but how could she really get her head around the pure fury he had felt, the honor and pride of being a part of his squadron, the utter betrayal when they had sent him off to the palace in a vain attempt to broker peace?

Lightening the load, they had called it. Slagging off the worthless, in reality. He hadn’t been a good soldier, he hadn’t been a good Reiny, and he hadn’t been a good guard. Why should he call himself a good husband or king, considering his track record?

‘It’s nothing, really.’

Despite his assurances, Hastion set his pen down. “Well, it doesn’t seem like nothing. I won’t press, but if you’d like to discuss it—even your time spent here before the coronation, I’m all ears. I don’t know overmuch how it was like before I was taken on, but I am always willing to learn.”

Before he could help himself, Galengar let out a breathy laugh. ‘It’s… it’s not that. I just think it’s funny. In the past, everyone wanted to know everything about the Northwest Territories—we were called Cabicon back then. Everyone wanted to know what their next move was, what was going on in there, what the war effort was against Essren. The year I was born, he set the first fires in the east.’

It hurt more than he thought it would to rehash, his chest aching from the memory of smoke.

‘It’s… it’s hard to explain to someone how that feels, knowing your people have been on the verge of destruction your entire life. I’m not  _ ashamed _ of what I did with the V-B, and I never will be, simple as that. It’s simply a chapter of my life I’ve since closed. I’m not going to talk about it, not right now, not right here, just as much as you aren’t going to talk about your stint in rehab or Malaidor isn’t going to talk about her escape from the Agro’opoli.’

With a startled nod, Hastion diverted his eyes back to his paper, not comprehending the second half of his sentence. Right. Too harsh.

A whistle got his attention back up on his king. ‘I’m not trying to make it awkward. I’m just telling you both to stop asking. Why don’t we talk about something else, huh? How was everyone’s day?’ His attempt at breaking the tension in the room didn’t seem to work.

Haltingly, as if testing the waters, Malaidor cleared her throat. “I had a talk with some of the Ilvoni delegates regarding improving trade. You might get some budget adjustments later, since there was some insistence that we work on developing land in the Northwest. I thought a highway might be nice, to complement the cross-continental footpath.”

‘Would you like me to draft a few letters to the major townships along the prospective path?” Galengar offered.

It would be more challenging where the footpath dipped into the Scorched Lands, but the west would likely be amicable to a highway. It would do wonders for connecting them to the rest of Galailan and might even facilitate trade between the Scorched Lands and the west. Getting a little bit of development started there certainly wouldn’t hurt.

“That would be wonderful, actually.” She sounded genuinely surprised at the offer. “I’ll make sure you have a prospective map on your desk as soon as it’s made. I don’t mean to add to your workload.”

Shaking his head, Gal tapped the back of his pen against his paper. ‘It’s quite alright, I know you’ve been working hard recently too.’ For some reason, that brought her eyes down to her lap. ‘You deserve to take a moment to yourself, especially with all that’s going on. I can handle infrastructure and negotiations with the Northwest. Hopefully, the autonomous region ruling won’t blow up in our faces.’

“Do we have enough grain production if they cede?”

Yes and no. ‘If the petty nobles actually develop their land, then yes. As it stands, we’re still reliant on them.’

Hastion looked horrified at that. Well, it wasn’t a fact all that freely given, even under Essren. Who would want to consider that a solid chunk of their nation’s food came from a region known for seceding and rebelling, a region that utterly despised the rest of the nation for what it had done in its history?

“The Northwest is the breadbasket of the continent.” Malaidor helpfully informed him. “Whoever owns it gets its food production. That’s why Galailan and Ilvon have been fighting over it for so long. Essren’s burning was to cripple it. It was meant to make it reliant on Galailan for its food, if only until it got back onto its feet.”

His brows drew together. “I was under the impression that the plan backfired.”

Wincing, Malaidor glanced away, searching for a good answer to that. “In some ways, yes. It only heightened the region’s isolationism and, as they rebuilt and reformed somewhat, the Scorched Lands were producing a good fifth of the nation’s crops. On their own, they could feed the Northwest three times over, especially with the depopulation. When they cut themselves off, though, they lost the roadwork projects to bring the Scorched Lands’ food out west, so they were reliant on the dragons for that. Dragons and merchants.”

‘It’s complicated.’ Gal said simply.

“I can imagine.” Though Hastion remained confused, he let the subject drop.

Well, that was alright. Not everyone could be an expert on history, and there were precious few things Galengar could do about that.

Changing the topic, he straddled his chair, evidently done with his work for the time being. ‘So, what are we doing tonight.’

That certainly brought a mild panic to his partners’ eyes.

Malaidor fumbled with her pen, dipping it in the inkwell. “I’m sorry?”

Lifting an eyebrow, Galengar let his expression shift to clear mirth, ‘Well, I was hoping one of you had something particularly exciting planned; we haven’t had a quiet night in for a while, so why should tonight be the exception? Are there any dark secrets that need revealing? Come on now, let’s not be boring.’

An uneasy silence fell over the pair as Malaidor glanced at Hastion, the two of them tensing up as Galengar continued.

‘What, was the joke unfunny?’ He asked, a smile on his lips. ‘Alright, alright. Let’s at least do  _ something _ , though. How about… how about we all read together? We haven’t done that in a while?’

“Why are you so eager to distract us all?” Malaidor’s brows drew together in obvious confusion. “You’ve always been the one who complains the most about things needing to be done, so why now? Has something happened? Did you hit your head on something? Have you been replaced?”

Smile dipping down into a frown, Galengar looked from his wife to his partner. ‘I can’t be in a good mood? Shit happened, things went horribly, and we came out for the better! We should let ourselves take a break before we burn out and sleep for twenty hours in a row because we don’t have the energy to get out of bed.’

“I’m sorry, Sir, but I wouldn’t call running an investigation to see if Lord Terioak was planning your  _ murder _ to be better than the alternative.” Hastion’s expression shifted into something bordering irritation, his hand picking at a bandage at the back of his hand.

‘Oh, about that.’ His clothing rustled as he shifted in his seat. ‘You aren’t going to be leading the investigation anymore; I’ve put it into Graeus’s hands to avoid a conflict of—’

“What?” Unthinking, Hastion cut him off.

A beat passed between them as Hastion’s face twisted into anger, his breathing coming faster. Even Malaidor looked concerned, her hand reaching out as if to steady him in his rage.

‘Hastion, it isn’t that big an issue.’ Galengar frowned. ‘This will be better, especially in the court of public opinion.’

Pure incredulity laced his voice. “I was making progress—I could have solved it in a week or two! Just because I had to go to rehab when I was younger doesn’t mean that I’m not capable—I’m  _ fine _ !”

‘That isn’t the issue, Hastion. Believe it or not, I’m trying to make your life  _ easier _ —’

Cutting him off, Hastion kept speaking, voice low in anger. “Why do you always do this? I wasn’t going to bring it up, since it isn’t your main concern, but when you take my tasks away from me, it reduces the goddamn  _ respect _ I get. If I am to be your captain, then allow me to act like it.”

‘I’m not! If I keep you on this investigation, there will be allegations of favoritism. Some may not even consider the findings valid specifically because you headed it!’

“They call me your pet, you know.” The sheer frustration in Hastion’s words made Galengar’s fingers freeze in the air. “They call me your pet and mock me about all the implications that come with that. Your removing me as team lead on this does  _ not _ help. Not in the slightest”

With a huff, he threw his pen back down on his little workstation, not caring as the nib dribbled ink onto the wood.

Sighing, Malaidor rubbed an eye with her palm. “Hastion, please. Take a deep breath. I know the medications you’re on right now can make your feelings a bit more heated, so let’s all calm down a little. Gal isn’t saying that you’re incapable, and you don’t mean the vitriol you say. It’s a conflict of interest, simple enough, and I’m sure we can find something else to put you in charge of, right Gal?”

‘Yes, yes there is.’ Galengar agreed, nodding as Hastion’s attention turned to him.

The man frowned, but took the deep breath his queen requested, closing his eyes in an attempt to center himself. Opening them back up, he just looked tired.

“My apologies, Sir. I didn’t mean it and I hope that you can forgive me.” He sounded… defeated.

‘There’s nothing to forgive. You’re upset and I’m making your job harder, I understand your anger.’ Galengar offered him a soft smile, but he could see it wasn’t accepted fully. ‘There  _ is _ a conflict of interest, and the public can pick up on that. I’m moving you to a different investigation, this one on groups that are calling for my abdication.’ That got everyone’s attention. ‘Essren loyalists. You should be getting a report on that this week.’

The lines in Hastion’s face only seemed more pronounced at that. “But why Lord Graeus?”

‘He wanted more responsibility for the crown, and I saw it fit to give him some. He happens to have already started his own inquiry into the events of that night, I got a report from him regarding that a day ago or so. It would be more meaningful for Terioak to be looked into by his own family, too, and as Graeus is only tenuously related to him, he’s unlikely to side with him over us, especially in the event of something serious.’

Though unsatisfied with his explanation, Hastion nodded anyway, letting his eyes wander to his work. “Is it alright if I retire for the night? To be completely honest, I don’t feel very well, and it might be better for everyone if I simply went to bed.”

“Of course.” Malaidor beat her husband to the punch. “Would you like to spend the night here?”

A light blush graced Hastion’s cheeks. “That may be what I’m looking at. My medication can make me very dizzy and nauseated at first, so it would be nice to spend less time on my feet. I don’t have any bedclothes here, though.”

‘You’re welcome to sleep naked, I don’t think either of us would mind.’ Shifting his weight, Galengar felt his chair wobble some. ‘Is this something we should be concerned about?’

“Please, don’t be. I just need to sleep it off.” With a tight smile, Hastion crossed into Malaidor’s bedchambers.

As the door closed, the royal couple could hear a deep, tired sigh and the sound of someone collapsing into bed, clothes and all. Well, that would be a problem for later, presumably. Who among them hadn’t needed a rest after a long, tiring day.

Offering her husband a look of sympathy, Malaidor switched over to sign, so as not to disturb their guest. ‘I’m sorry, he’s just had a very, very long day with interrogating Terioak. I hope you can cut him a little slack and let him sleep it off, he really doesn’t mean it.’

‘You’re speaking like you’re his wife instead.’ The comment came out before he could do anything to stop it, less jealousy and more confusion.

Instead of asking for clarification, Malaidor simply flinched, eyes flicking down to the ground. ‘I’m sorry. I…’ She trailed off, organizing her work with too much attention to detail. ‘I understand how free you must feel right now, I really do, but we can’t help but worry. We just want to keep you safe, especially now, when all three of us are exposed and vulnerable to attack. Perhaps we should think about rescheduling the play—’

‘You promised.’ The complaint was off of his hands before he could think to keep it in. ‘I don’t mean to sound like a petulant child, but we haven’t gotten the chance to do anything together in so long. I miss you, I miss the time we spend together. It can be so lonely here.’

Empathy bubbled in Malaidor’s expression. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she nodded. ‘Alright. Alright, I give in. You’ve bested me in non-verbal combat. I’ll send a letter to Ezkei and Lirrra to invite them and see what I can scrounge up with the guards. Until then, why don’t we work, alright? I think I hear the pipes going, so hopefully we’ll have a nice, clean guard to warm our bed instead of a snoring lug.’ Her words ended in humor, unpracticed but genuine.

Nodding, Galengar gave her a friendly smile as he turned back around, getting to work on the letters he was to send out. The evening passed by quickly, with his wife’s pen scratching beside him and the white noise of water running through the pipes as Hastion washed. It soothed him, the faint rustling of papers as Malaidor drafted her work, setting aside proposals to review at a later date.

With a faint smile on his face, he let himself enjoy this feeling for the first time in a long, long time. Despite the minor fight, his day was still good—peaceful, even. Of all feelings, that one was especially hard to come by, even as the king. Perhaps specifically  _ because _ he was the king.

His life was defined by one disaster after the other, and despite the world’s best efforts, he was going to stay in the present for this, was going to drink in the quiet bliss of sitting with his wife without anything to hide, without any life-altering secrets to keep from everyone outside his marriage. If everything could stay like this for only a few minutes longer, he would ask for nothing more.


	26. I-6.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terioak gets to have a nice chat with the Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haHA! so i finished part 2 today in its entirety like i wanted to, so hooray for a big buffer! yay for writing 30k words in under 2 weeks!

[Four hours ago]

This was far from Hastion’s favorite task. He could all but hear the jeering of his fellow guards as he descended into the Agro’opoli, their faces shades of concerned and irritated that Lord Terioak had been put into custody. Signaling a lightling to prepare an interrogation room, complete with one Terioak, Hastion resisted the urge to sigh. His afternoon wouldn’t be fun, per se, but it would be nice to cross this off his to-do list, especially after all the evidence gathering was finally completed tomorrow or overmorrow.

His investigation was going well, if he allowed himself to feel pride at that. Things progressed quickly under his purview, and he deserved to be pleased with how effectively he had run the damn thing. Nothing like a proposed murder attempt to keep everyone in line, even those guards who had never approved of his promotion or cared about how much influence he actually had. Sure, they could deceive themselves and pretend their positions were sacrosanct, but to slack on  _ this _ ? It would be unacceptable. Unthinkable.

So here he was, flanked by his two lieutenants—people who he had not, in fact chosen. Another issue of the inherited position. Demote these two traitors, and all hell would break loose as the lesser guards decried discrimination or a rejection of whatever the old ideals had been. It would be a nightmare.

Well, he could make this pair useful, at least. If one of them failed, it would be quite obvious—be it a city breach on Abzadel’s front or chaos in the palace on Ilesidur’s. They laze in their duties and the royal family would publicly lambast them for their incompetence, especially if someone infiltrated the palace under their supervision. That accountability had been a crucial point in Hastion taking the job instead of rejecting it outright. His Ma had always told him not to put himself in a lose-lose situation.

“Ilesidur,” His voice was calm and confident, a far cry of the loose-tongued, overly emotional version of himself the royal family teased him into. “Have you submitted the new findings of your internal investigation yet?”

The lieutenant took a moment to get his words, his shoulder length platinum blonde hair mussed ever so artfully. It didn’t do to have him so disheveled all the time; one could almost think he was having an affair on the job.

“Yes, Captain.”

Liar. “Why isn’t it on my desk, then?”

The accusation, a stab in the sparring match they’d had for the last five months, didn’t manage to crack the man’s devil-may-care exterior. “You might have missed it, Captain. I submitted it recently, so it may not have gotten its way to you.”

“Hm, that’s odd.” Hastion’s steps were near silent, a stark contrast to the two beside him, clanking away with their weapons like they meant to announce their presence everywhere they went. He could never understand the way they swaggered about, loud and impertinent.

“I’m sorry?”

Glancing his way, Hastion did his best to convey cool ease. “I ask only because I checked before we set off for this. Both in my inbox, with the submission office, and on my desk itself. Nothing from you, Ilesidur. Abzadel, thank you for your timely contribution.”

Nodding, Abzadel remained characteristically silent, staring down the empty corridor like it was filled with enemies only he could see. For all Hastion knew, it was. The Agro’opoli had never been keen on him. The few times the lightlings had spoken to him without prompting had been about him, about how he was not allowed in cells with prisoners alone. Whenever he entered the dungeon, the air seemed to grow heavier, its usually disinterested but amused ambiance shifting into something more malicious.

“It must have gotten lost. My apologies, Captain.” Ilesidur ground out between clenched teeth.

With a dry hum, Hastion eyed the lightling guiding them. “Mm. I see. Do be sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Enough late reports and he could write him up. That mantra kept Hastion going, kept him from snapping at him outright. There were only so many disasters he could handle at once, and a proposed assassination attempt filled out a great deal of his energy, combined with the typical exhaustion of this high a dose of his medication. Couldn’t have him relapsing, after all.

At least he would be sleeping in a soft bed tonight—Malaidor had insisted that he not take any late shifts while he was posted on this, especially until he had been medically cleared to return to his normal activities. It would be too much work, in her opinion, and he needed to sleep more, if only to expedite his recovery. Well, whatever kept the royals happy. He wasn’t going to fight them on this, not with everything on all of their plates.

Clearing his throat, Abzadel straightened up somewhat. “Sir, I have a question.”

“Yes, Abzadel?”

Completely serious, he held his hands behind his back as he spoke. “Why are we considering Lord Terioak as a suspect in this? At most, he is guilty of being concerned about the current state of politics. I would say that is an acceptable reaction to a new royal family so suddenly, Sir.”

It took Hastion a moment to prepare his words. In that second, Abzadel gave Ilesidur an… almost proud look, like the man was happy at having asked such a completely ridiculous question.

“Well,” he started, not giving the pair any emotion to work with, “it has been two years. He has had more than enough time to raise concerns about the royal family, and it would be inappropriate now, as both non-ruling dynasties have given their support to the Oridions. Secondly, he  _ has _ been found guilty of drugging his partner, which is a felony. This disdain for the ruling family, along with a history of non-consensual drugging, means that he is a suspect. Finally, the Kadrios patriarch has given us his full support and blessing.”

He grinned down at his lieutenants, politely ignoring the way Ilesidur kept his face unreadable while his nails dug little crescents into his palms. “Isn’t that just wonderful? It isn’t every day that a dynasty so freely allows one to investigate, especially for something so serious. Perhaps Lord Graeus will have something he would like to share with us. It would be so nice to finish this investigation quickly, wouldn’t you say?”

As Abzadel nodded, Ilesidur tried not to visibly fume, the gears in his head working overtime on how to throw Hastion from his position. Fine by him, whatever kept the man occupied. The three of them continued walking in silence, the walls passing in a blur of identical hallways and tile. No cells popped up before them, the quiet only interrupted by the dripping of water and the padding of their own footsteps, the rattling of his lieutenants’ weapons at their sides.

“I would be concerned about something, Captain.” Though he hid his disdain for Hastion decently well, Ilesidur’s tone still held traces of venom. Reading people had been a skill Hastion took stock in, after all. “How has your health been? I noticed you called out sick after the party and I was merely worried that something in the concoction may have negatively affected you. Would you say you are fully recovered?”

Had Hastion been a lesser man, he would have punched Ilesidur square in the face. His ‘concern’ was betrayed somewhat by the smugness in his tone, as if he had stumbled upon a secret his captain had buried. Sadly for him, the king and queen already knew all there was to know and weren’t particularly keen on dismissing him. Especially not now, considering what he and Malaidor had gotten up to. It would be a security risk, to say the least, even with all the non-disclosure agreements he would have to sign.

Putting on as fake a smile as he could, Hastion addressed him. “Thank you for your inquiry. Yes, I am perfectly fine. Doctor Lend wanted to ensure that I did not have a concussion, as it would not be safe to perform my job with such an injury.” A lie, but who was checking. “At her instruction, I spent the day resting.” And fucking, but Ilesidur didn’t need to know that.

“Hm, I see.” Unconvinced, the damn man continued. “I only ask because I was sent to deliver something to your rooms, but when I knocked, you did not answer, Sir.”

That smile faded as quick as it had come, replaced by a look of impersonal disappointment. “I have long-since requested that work-related affects be sent to my office, rather than my personal chambers.”

Ilesidur, for his part, beamed like he had caught his superior officer in a trap. “Oh, it was not work-related, Sir. It was a delivery from Lord Nadja—she requested that it be brought to you as soon as possible and that it was urgent. Well, I was concerned when you didn’t answer—you had hit your head, after all, so I asked an attendant to let me in and… well… I was rather surprised to find your rooms rather untouched!”

Fuck his life. Fuck everything in and around his life. It took every minuscule iota of self-control drilled into Hastion not to stab this man right here, right now. He  _ went _ into his gods-be-damned  _ rooms _ . Sure, he could likely speak with the royals about this, but why add more to their already overburdened plates? He had seen how hard they worked to keep the kingdom functioning, so why bother with all this? Why bring it up to them, when he could deal with the matter himself? Beli. He would chat with Beli later, see if she could do anything about that.

“Ilesidur,” his voice was smooth, not a trace of the rage bubbling under his skin. “I am not obligated to tell you where I spend my time, on or off shift. I understand we may have a jovial relationship, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves and accidentally be rude to our superiors, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve always found it so important to have that level of professional distance to help preserve the work-life balance.”

“Of course.” He muttered, turning to face straight ahead.

The rest of the journey passed in silence all the way to the interrogation room Lord Terioak was settled to be in, miraculous as it was. As if trying to expedite the process, Agro’opoli kept them walking in a straight line with no stops or turns, shifting its contents around to present the lord at the end of the hall like a prize. Let it not be said that this dungeon was ineffective, allowing Hastion to step through into the monitoring room without fuss.

It was a small room, the floor one continuous slab of white tile, the walls a similar shade. It was almost blinding inside, but the chamber the prisoner was placed in was even worse. It positively gleamed with how the stone had been polished, unmarred by a single blemish. It could drive people to madness if they stayed in there long enough, nothing but the pure white of their surroundings to distract themselves.

A table sat before the man he was to interrogate, the same cool metal as everything else in the room. No fingerprints or scuff marks marked it, despite the vast array of individuals they had housed here. Neither dragon fire nor arcane force could damage this room, not with how it rebuilt itself before its occupant’s eyes, freshly pissed off with each new nick and splinter.

Lord Terioak reclined in a chair against the wall, his hands shackled to a loop on the table and his legs cuffed to the steel legs of the chair. His clothes were mussed up and his hair had fallen out of its perfect coiffure. The night of the party, he had managed to look so elegant, from what Hastion could remember through the haze as his heart dropped into his stomach and his thoughts fogged over. Those scant ten minutes had grown blurrier and blurrier until his memory disintegrated entirely.

Now, though, Lord Terioak was far from the well-dressed noble he presented himself as. Hastion could see the grease in his hair and the way his smudged makeup betrayed old acne scars. It sent a little thrill through him, to see the stubborn frustration in the man’s eyes after he had caused his king—his partner—so much suffering and grief. He would keep this meeting short.

Instructing his lieutenants to wait outside, Hastion strode in calmly, setting his files down on the desk and taking a seat in the chair. Lord Terioak flinched at the sudden sound, his pale blue eyes watching the captain of the guard like a hawk. Well, what could he do in this situation, locked deep below in the Agro’opoli? Even if he could get out of the handcuffs and past Ilesidur and Abzadel, Terioak would still wander for years before Agro’opoli deigned to let him out. The dungeon rather liked this royal family, after all.

“Lord Terioak, how have you found the facilities?” Hastion tried for cheery as he leaned back in his seat, calm and put together.

Those blue eyes hardened in hatred, pure and utter hatred. “As fine as I can, thank you for your concern.”

“Of course.” Idly flipping through the binder, Hastion pretended to read for a moment. “Are you aware of why you are here?”

“Because I am suspected of poisoning.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He waggled his finger, tapping against his papers. “ _ Drugging _ , Lord Terioak. There is a difference. Specifically, drugging of the King and your fiance, one Galengar Oridion, and one Vakino Tremlin. The charges may be lessened, as one of the imbibements did not reach its intended target, but that would depend on the courts. Do you have anything to say to that?”

A sneer slipped across the man’s face as he abandoned any attempt at propriety. So, he thought he had been found out. Pulling away from any plans that would fall through if he was captured would be wise, but Lord Terioak had never been wise.

Tossing his hair out of his face as best he could, Terioak straightened up, tugging the chains connecting him to the table taut. “You wound me.”

“Do I now?” Disinterested, Hastion merely lifted an eyebrow.

“If I wanted to drug the king, I would be successful, and you know it. I know what he’s trying to do to this country, and someone needs to stop him. Soon enough, there will be Humanish—” he spat the word like a slur, “prowling about the streets, their faces on full display.”

Hastion only blinked at him, completely and utterly unamused.

It did little to dissuade the man. “You know, he’ll likely come for your job next. Think of the restrictions you would face, on top of everything he’s already implemented. Suggest something not to his liking, too similar to the old ways, and you’ll be thrown out on your ass. They stole the throne from me, you know that, right?”

“Lord Terioak, you are aware that  _ I _ was the person who recommended the transparency guidelines, yes? And as for thrones, I don’t find myself caring much for court politics. I serve who is on the throne, not who insists that it is theirs from the stands.”

That was enough to trip him up, to take the wind out of his sails, if even for a moment. It took Lord Terioak a second to find the words he wanted, though his thoughts seemed fragmented and impromptu. “Yes, I drugged Vakino, but there was no fault in that. He is  _ mine _ , you do know what that means, right Captain?”

Hastion’s silence was his only answer.

“He consented to it, even! He let me!” Three days down here, and he was already cracking, little chinks of his sanity falling to his feet. “He wanted to! He wanted everything! Did he tell you otherwise, because he’s a chronic liar. His paperwork told me so; you can’t trust a word out of his mouth! He… he’ll blame me, but that’s only to keep himself safe.”

“Is that so?” His tone was blank, carefully emotionless. He sounded like Malaidor.

Lord Terioak stared at him, ideas shifting about in his head. “Vakino’s part of the insurgency, if he didn’t tell you already. He forced me into it. He should be the one fettered here, not me. You have the wrong man.”

“I’ll have to ask him about that, then.”

Stuttering out another answer, Lord Terioak watched as Hastion wrote down the important quotes of what the man had said. So many nobles were unfamiliar with how their methods of subterfuge simply didn’t mesh with how a commoner thought. By pointing the finger at Vakino, Lord Terioak had done little to absolve himself. He was still complicit, even if everything he had said was true. A man like him, with the resources he had, under the thumb of a Reikyani graduate that looked like he had been on the verge of a breakdown when the guards had brought him in? Quite unbelievable, even without Lord Terioak’s history of lying to appease anyone and everyone.

“Thank you for your time, Lord Terioak. I will be back soon when there is more information regarding the investigation. As it stands now, you have been ruled too dangerous for release, since, as you said, you would be perfectly capable of drugging the king, and none of us want that, do we?” Hastion’s smile was predatory, all teeth and threat.

As he rose from the chair, picking up his books, Terioak strained forward. “You… you’re making a mistake.”

There would be nothing more he could get from this conversation. He had faced these types of people more than enough times to know what the script was. Lord Terioak would continue to rant and ramble about nothing in particular, point the finger at anyone who had so much as breathed in his general direction and lie about anything that might serve to incriminate him. It would be so much easier to wait until the primary evidence had been collected so they could get him into the portion of Agro’opoli that rendered lies impossible. Then again, he would need consent from the royals. Extracting confessions in other ways had been… frowned upon in recent years.

“You’re just a glorified pet and we both know it! You’re just his animal!” Terioak spat the words at him, eyes wild. “He’s going to throw you aside the second you aren’t entertaining and we both know it. The only reason he keeps you around is because you make his damned life less miserable!”

Despite himself, Hastion felt his face cloud over in frustration and anger. How  _ dare _ he—

Terioak seized on that chink in Hastion’s armor. “Does he make you moan his name when he fucks you? Is it worth it? Do you really think he’s going to keep you around when you start growing dull? I bet he’s possessive, isn’t he? I bet there’s a mark on you from him, a slap or a paddle, or a rope mark. He’s a freak in bed, isn’t he? Loves to make you beg for it, loves to see his strong guard broken at his feet?”

Slamming his hands on the table, Hastion loomed over the smaller elf, ominous and royally pissed off. “Shut up, Terioak, before you say something else you might regret. Lightlings, take him home. Put him in the quiet.”

It was petty and vindicative, but the damn man had drugged him and had the nerve to try and poke holes in his sex life. The idiot was the reason his head pounded and his body craved nicotine and benzos after two damn years of relative quiet. He was why Hastion had to sit for his injections, had to refrain from  _ everything _ , had to get tested every two gods-be-damned days to make sure he hadn’t lapsed back into old habits. He had made his next few months a living hell. His fault. His damn fault.

Still, Terioak’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes growing wide as the stronger, more powerful man glowered down at him. His breathing sped up and Hastion could see the way his heart raced, pumping blood through his body as a look of madness entered Lord Terioak. His filter was gone, whatever had kept him from speaking his mind so often vanished in hardly a few days. It was… it was almost disturbing, how quickly Terioak was willing to flip sides if it meant he advanced his career.

Three days in the Agro’opoli, and he had cracked just as bad as Pet. How quickly had it taken his reflection to start speaking to him, twisting his words around and around in his head, using his own subconscious to torture him? The dungeon afforded precious little love to this man, what with how tied up he was with its previous owner.

“I would be better.” His words came as a raspy whisper, eyes still locked with Hastion’s.

When he spoke, Hastion’s voice was shocked into a quiet hiss. “What?”

“I would be a better king than him and you know it. I was the dauphin, everyone knew the choice was me—I should have been the king. Essren promised; he told me I was going to be the dauphin, but that bastard woman burned the papers or hid it when she stole the—”

Without thinking, Hastion slapped him. “That ‘bastard woman’ is your damn queen. Act like it.”

Lord Terioak’s only response was dark laughter. “For now, Elfling. She’s our queen for now. When I’m on the throne, I’ll keep this in mind. You make for a very loyal pet.”

Shooting him a disgusted look, Hastion left, giving instructions for a lightling pair to take that horrid man back to his cell and to institute a quiet zone around him. Some time alone with his thoughts with not even the dripping of water to distract him would certainly serve as a deterrent to being so rude and unpleasant to be around. That, or moving his cell next to one of the more vocal individuals housed here would get his point across. Lord Terioak didn’t seem the type to enjoy a long rendition on how to modify oneself into a monster, as Cathon would gladly give. She had gone far too long without a pupil, willing or unwilling.

Still, as he left with his lieutenants falling in beside him, Hastion couldn’t help but let his mind pore over that accursed man’s words again and again. So many times, he had been called the royal’s pet, but to have it so blatantly spat at him… it rubbed him the wrong way. How commonplace was this sentiment? How many people thought him to be weak, not fit for his job? Was that how the royal couple themselves thought of him?

Not bothering to pretend to have any desire to interact with his lieutenants, he bid them farewell and headed off to his office. He had no time for whatever antics Ilesidur had convinced Abzadel were absolutely necessary to keeping the peace and reinstate whatever laws he thought were important enough to risk his job over—he had an actual job to do. A job that was, at the moment, languishing under piles and piles of paperwork and press releases, media outlets clamoring for an interview with him regarding the party, regarding the investigation, regarding rumors of his relationship with the king. A distraction he wouldn’t fall for.

As soon as he closed the door to his office, he let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. Fuck, he was completely and utterly fucked, and not even by the queen. Well, not currently. At least he could hold the carrot of dinner with her and Galengar over his head. Opening the first binder, he was met with a report featuring a rise in vocality of nationalist movements after the king’s… announcement. It was going to be a much longer day than he thought, apparently.


	27. I-6.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilesidur isn't known for his good judgement...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy anniversary to me and the editor! have chapter!

Captain Erro’ar was a fool, and everyone knew it. He was a fool who didn’t deserve the position he had stolen from under Ilesidur, and everyone pretended that nothing had happened, smiling and chatting with that horrible man like he wasn’t the dirtiest damn thing in the palace, more corrupt than the noble with the loosest morals who dared grace the halls with their presence.

The very sight of him drove his blood to boil. How  _ dare _ he walk through these halls knowing what he had done? Did it not drive him to shame, the very thought of his treachery? Hastion Erro’ar was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, considering the way he acted like everyone should simply accept his little dictatorship, sanctioned by the king for whatever reason. Well, two could play at that game. If Captain Erro’ar wanted to use the royal family like a free pass to do whatever he liked, Ilesidur could show him just how tenuous a plan that was.

A few well-placed questions let him know that the king was working in his wife’s chambers this afternoon. The attendants who saw the way he had been betrayed so harshly were always more than happy to help him out. It was funny, if Ilesidur allowed himself to dwell on it, how many people didn’t care for the captain. The workers in the palace weren’t blind to these things, after all, and they knew when to pick sides, even if Captain Erro’ar was blind to that. Ilesidur would come out on top, even if it destroyed the other man’s career.

As he stalked through the halls of the royal wing, he took this moment in time to center himself, to ready himself for what might happen, adjusting his hair with small, calculated motions. With the summer winding down, the natural highlights should still linger in his hair, emphasizing its attractive paleness. Though his eyes were darker than would be acceptable for a noble to bed, they were still a mellow honeyed yellow, far preferable to the beady coals Captain Erro’ar sported. His uniform, too, was still pristine. Everything was in order.

When he knocked on the door of the queen’s chambers, he felt his heart skip a beat. This was it. This was everything he had worked to. He  _ would _ be successful in this—he wouldn’t be forgotten in history, stories painting him as the villain the traitorous Captain Erro’ar had fought against. Ilesidur would bring about a new era of peace, would restore Galailan to its former glory.

Those grandiose dreams evaporated as the king opened the door, a suspicious expression on his face the instant he saw Ilesidur. The lieutenant didn’t miss the way his liege’s eyes flickered to his hands—empty, of course—and down to the sheathed sword at his belt, the dagger on the other side, the one Ilesidur had hidden in his belt loop in the event of an Erro’ar-related emergency. One never knew when one’s life could be suddenly cut short, after all.

Bowing low, Ilesidur prostrated himself before his king, forehead touching the cool marble of the floor. “Your Majesty, I am sorry to disturb you without first calling in advance, but I fear I have something important to discuss with you regarding Captain Erro’ar. May I come in?”

Silence passed, long enough for Ilesidur to look up, only to watch the king begin to sign. Oh, oh fuck.

The king seemed to notice the man’s incomprehension, as he walked back inside and returned with a notepad. Quickly, he wrote something down with sure strokes, his light grey eyes hooded in focus and his mouth downcast. From this position, Ilesidur could understand why people whispered about how he was an incarnation of the sun, his golden hair less beautiful and more radiant, eyes the same color as storm clouds on the horizon. It made his mouth dry, the sheer force of his presence, even if his king’s true height left something to be desired.

With an odd, dispassionate look, King Galengar turned the paper around to reveal the words, ‘What are your concerns, and why could they not wait until you were able to establish a meeting through proper channels.’

Swallowing, Ilesidur felt sweat break out on his back. His neck ached from craning it up, but his lord hadn’t given him a signal to stand yet. It would be tantamount to treason to stand in his king’s presence when the lord hadn’t given him permission to do so. More than anything, Ilesidur  _ needed _ to leave a good, obedient impression. If Captain Erro’ar could do this, so could he.

“I… This is hard to say, my Lord, but I saw him slap a prisoner without provocation.” Voice hushed, he did his best to look horrified. “It was shocking to watch, and I felt that you needed to know about it immediately. Lieutenant Abzadel was with me when it happened, and I’m sure he feels a similar way, but is afraid to reach out, as both of our jobs could be at stake for telling you this, Your Majesty. I simply wanted to make you aware of this incident, as I am afraid that going through the proper channels would bring Captain Erro’ar’s ire down on me.”

The king’s expression didn’t change from that suspicion masking something deeper, something hidden from the guards flanking his doorway. They stared straight ahead, their faces carefully blank. What his king said now would either make or break Erro’ar’s reputation. If he was the king’s pet, then what real qualifications did he have?

‘There are official channels for a reason.’ His king wrote, rather unamused with this entire situation. ‘That you did not go through them is concerning. You have presented no evidence of your claim, and I am not a man who readily believes hearsay.’

“Oh, but I do have evidence!” The lie was out of Ilesidur’s mouth before he could stop it.

That brought that odd, concerned look back to King Galengar’s face.

Putting on an amicable smile, Ilesidur tried for friendly. “Please, I fear that it is not something I am willing to divulge with so many listening ears here. May I come in, my Lord?”

The king thought for a moment, mulling over the idea in his head before writing his response, handwriting characteristically elegant and noble. ‘Fine. I do not have much time to spare, though, and I will not be happy if you intend to waste it.’

“I would never dream of it, Your Majesty.” Yes.

And with that, Ilesidur was admitted entrance into the royal chambers. Oh, they were opulent, so opulent. Expensive artworks decorated the walls, and foreign carpets covered the floors, made with the finest wood in the country. Gold and silver glittered on well-maintained shelves and books fit for an academic library occupied the desks and bookshelves. The king sat down on a divan in front of a low coffee table, gesturing for Ilesidur to take the seat across from him.

Obliging him, Ilesidur did his best to act demure, an attractive look that would have made nobles fawn over him like the present at a party back in the old days. Not many would dare have parties like that anymore, though, not since Reikyani had shut down.

Fondly, he thought back to his last fete like that—though he hadn’t known it would be the last at that moment in time. Lord Terioak had been there, had even supplied his own Reiny to satisfy people. He had been a pretty, well-behaved thing, the Reiny, perfectly willing to take whatever was given to him without a complaint. How finely trained, nothing like the wild thing that had taken the throne. Ilesidur would have to do with what he had to work with.

“My Lord, I mean no disrespect,” he started, thinking on his feet.

His story didn’t need to be watertight, just believable enough. This would be easier than he had previously been planning, considering the king’s history. Reinies believed a lot of things—something about their reeducation likely scrambled their brains, reconfigured whatever it was that made them think solely about themselves and tuned it to better consider the wishes of their masters.

“I was in the Agro’opoli, and Captain Erro’ar was acting quite suspicious. I noticed that he hadn’t been in his rooms when he called out sick and, when I brought it up, he snapped at me and claimed that it wasn’t any of my business where he was. Then, after we arrived at the interrogation cell where Lord Terioak was being held—without access to a change of clothes or a shower, Captain Erro’ar was quite aggressive with him. It all culminated in him assaulting the lord, Your Majesty. I’m sure you can understand why I was so afraid to come forward.”

King Galengar, after listening to his speech, just gave him a dry, displeased look. Writing down ‘evidence’, he underlined the word twice.

Right. “Yes, my Lord. If you visit the Agro’opoli or ask for Lord Terioak, you should see the mark on his face—” An aggravated sigh slipped out of King Galengar’s mouth, but Ilesidur forged on, letting a strand of hair come strategically loose. “I just worry that Captain Erro’ar is unable to do his job properly, especially considering this investigation directly pertains to him.”

That gave him a reaction, however slight and disguised. The king blinked, mulling the thought over in his head. He didn’t bother to write down anything else, presumably letting Ilesidur continue speaking. It sent a thrill through him, knowing he had bent the king’s ear his way, knowing that it was  _ him _ King Galengar was listening to, not that damnable traitor who had claimed his spot.

“I would be more than willing to take over, my Lord, or suggest someone to do so.” Suggest someone who would be more than willing to put that ugly excuse for an elf behind bars. “It just doesn’t seem very judicious, my Lord, if I may say so. I simply worry about corruption.”

The king frowned at that, thinking over what Ilesidur had said. Yes, this was his moment, this was the opening he had been waiting so long for. Rising slowly, gracefully, Ilesidur showed off his well-toned form as he padded over to the king, kneeling before him. This angle showed him off, the elegant slope of his jawline, his blond eyelashes, his exposed neck. His king seemed to start at that, as if he had forgotten Ilesidur had even been in the room as he pondered the issues and solutions presented to him. That frown deepened, as if weighing the benefits and drawbacks that came with Ilesidur’s more… physical, implied proposal.

Nestling himself between his king’s legs, far enough away that it could be misinterpreted as chaste, Ilesidur peered up at him, daring and bold, likely an imitation of the brash, strict captain he served under. Anything Erro’ar could do, he could do better, and he was more than willing to let that be known.

“Let me serve you, my Lord.” Ilesidur breathed, eyes round moons. He was the better option, and he would make that point clear enough. “Let me be the hand you move, let me be a pawn for you to play as you wish.”

Essren had loved this, had loved it when his soon-to-be captain submitted to him like this. He adored it when Ilesidur presented himself to him, lips parted and hair ever so slightly mussed up, a temptation to rival temptations. Maybe this king would tease him, remind him how perfect he would be, if only his eyes were that last bit lighter, his hair just a tad fairer. He wouldn’t deceive himself to think he was an acceptable fuck for a noble, never mind a king, but he could at least be an affair, something to let off steam with at the cost of a listening ear.

King Galengar was a different man, though. His eyes darkened and his face shut like a door in Ilesidur’s face. So, he needed some convincing. That was understandable, considering how people had treated him during his reign. He needed to know Ilesidur wouldn’t go running to the tabloids, spilling his king’s secrets for the fame of it all. He was trustworthy, more so than that damned attention whore of a captain he served under.

“Please,” he murmured, the pinnacle of perfection. ‘Kingsbane’, Essren had called him, the only weak point of a man who had everything. “Let me show you how loyal I can be, my Lord.”

As his fingers wandered to his king’s trousers, Ilesidur had just a moment to think up a game plan. No cock, that was clear enough from the debacle the other day, but surely, he could come up with  _ something _ . He was only a few decades out of practice, how hard could it possibly be?

Hands on his pulled him away, not in a sexy way either. The king touched him like he was casting aside a dead rat, woefully upset that he didn’t have a broom to sweep him away with. Frowning, Ilesidur looked up, doing his level best to be as appealing as possible. It wouldn’t do to be rejected so quickly for his appearance when his competition was  _ Captain Erro’ar _ .

His king didn’t seem to agree, though. A mixture of revulsion, anger, and distress burned in his eyes, most definitely  _ not _ what Ilesidur had been planning for. Did he not want to be in charge? Essren had loved ordering him around, if only to highlight his own pleasure. He had always wanted Ilesidur to put on a show, to strip for him elegantly, to make a performance of it all. Had he not done it well enough? Had he left his king wanting?

Before he could voice his thoughts, King Galengar jabbed his finger in the direction of the door, not bothering to sign or mouth words. Ilesidur could feel his face settling into confusion, brows drawing together as he sat there, frozen, hands still where his king had moved them.

“I… I don’t…” He tried to parse out the possibilities as quick as he possibly could but fell short at the lack of  _ words _ in this conversation.

Option one: his king wanted to do this outside in view of everyone. Essren had been like that in his more unstable days, had wanted people to know just how tight a grip he had on his servants, but King Galengar had never once done something remotely close to that, not even with his wife. Likely not what he meant, then.

Option two: there was a different place he wanted to do this. That was understandable, these  _ were _ his wife’s chambers, after all. She almost certainly didn’t want her husband fucking somebody in here without her consent, considering how domineering a role Queen Malaidor had taken with foreign policy. Perhaps his own chambers, or the old playroom. Ilesidur couldn’t remember the last time he visited that room, but the path to it was burned into his memory.

Option three: he had failed and his king wanted him out. That was the worst of them all. That meant Ilesidur had been rejected in favor of Captain Erro’ar, Ilesidur had been cast aside because a man that couldn’t attract flies if he put his mind to it had come first. Cum first too, considering his selfish, controlling personality.

Perhaps the king  _ did _ want a more dominant touch. Was that what he was asking for? Was this a test to see if Ilesidur would fight for this opportunity or simply slink down and obey like the loyal servant he was meant to be? Essren had enjoyed these sorts of games, but back then, the answer had always been obedience. Here, it could be different.  _ Ilesidur _ could be different. Alright, he would play this with the king. Roleplay had been common, and he could figure out what his lord wanted of him.

“I understand.” He purred, rising up to loom over the king.

The royal’s face only grew darker, eyes flicking to the door and back to Ilesidur. Right, it wouldn’t do for anyone to walk in on this. Consider the scandal: a married king caught in bed with his captain’s lieutenant. The rumor mill would have a field day.

Placing his hands on the couch on either side of King Galengar’s head, Ilesidur put on a sexy, alluring smile. “I’m sure the guards won’t let anyone disturb us, especially not when they know we have such an  _ important _ meeting. They’re trained better than that—or well, they were. I should know, I worked with a good portion, before Captain Erro’ar, after all.”

King Galengar mouthed something Ilesidur couldn’t make out. He  _ would _ be put in the running for a promotion. He only needed to highlight how inept the current captain was, how displeasing, how brutish and boorish he was. It would be guaranteed that he would earn the king’s favor, especially after showing him just how loyal and attentive he could be.

As he let his hand gently caress the king’s cheek, he saw anger flash in the man’s eyes and felt something solid connect with his stomach, throwing him flat on his back across the coffee table. He had overstayed his welcome, it seemed. Misinterpreting what a royal wanted could have dangerous consequences, but as he murmured apologies, winded from an unexpectedly hard strike, he tried not to let it get to him. Perhaps this king just liked it rough, wanted a brat to put in their place.

A shiver ran through him, ice coiling in his stomach to counteract the bruise no doubt forming. He had no shortage of experience with these sorts of people, but this would be more dangerous than most. Refuse the king, ask for a break to catch his breath, and he could be off to the dungeons. His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out his thoughts.

What he didn’t expect as he sat up, ribs groaning in complaint, was a rifle pointed at him, his king at the other end. Ilesidur’s words dried up in his mouth at that, at the rage in his king’s expression. He put his hands up, eyes wide, and held as still as possible. Breathing shallow, Ilesidur put his hands where his king could see them, trembling like a child.

His king nodded at the door, and Ilesidur understood. For once in this entire damnable exchange, he understood what the king wanted. He had failed—he had more than failed, and that was entirely his fault. Why hadn’t he opted to learn sign when he had the chance? Why had he assumed that this reign wouldn’t last, when evidently, the other noble dynasties were in full support of them?

Getting up slowly, slow enough that his muscles lit up in pain, he backed up, letting himself be herded to the door with a gun. The king’s aim didn’t waver, belying a concerning expertise with weapons. Sure, he may have been a commoner previously, but who knew their way around guns in this day and age? Barely anyone would have even  _ handled _ one, unless they had truly come from a rural area. And… And he was babbling again, if only in his own mind.

That was how Ilesidur walked out of the room, backwards and with his hands up, what must have been a terrified look on his face. As the door slammed in his face, he glanced at the guards, eyes wide. All they could do was stare back, equally confused.

“The king has a  _ gun _ ?” He hissed, voice cracking on the last word.

One of the men blinked hard at that, mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate an answer. “No, Lieutenant, he does not. This is the palace, and he is the king. Why would he have a gun?”

The other piped up, hushed so as not to be heard on the other side of the door. “I think he would be more likely to hurt himself with it rather than actually use it properly. King Galengar isn’t really… known… for his prowess with weapons—I think the only time he’s held a knife is to cut his meat.”

Shaking his head, Ilesidur knew he must have looked absolutely crazy. “He had a gun. I swear on the Trinity, he had a gun. A rifle. I don’t know the make and model, but one second he was empty handed, and then the next, he had a rifle pointed at me.”

“Are you sure, Sir?” Though the first guard—Eltin, his name was, if Ilesidur remembered correctly, tried to sound sympathetic, it came out more condescending.

“Am I sure?” Oh, now he  _ really _ sounded nuts, especially when his whispered voice jumped a few octaves into what could only be described as ‘shrill’. “He pointed the damn thing at my head; am I sure! Go in there, you could probably find it.”

Eltin chewed on his lip, glancing at Ilesidur like he was unsure whether or not to call his superiors to take him away. “I’m not going to search the king’s rooms without his say-so. You may not like it, but he’s the  _ king _ , Sir. I’m not looking to get thrown out of the palace just because you think you saw King  _ Galengar _ of all people point a rifle at you.”

All Ilesidur could do was stand there, staring at them like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Well, he couldn’t. This was… this was insane. How could they believe the king—who wasn’t even here—over him? He wasn’t crazy and he knew it! He…

He would have to tell Captain Erro’ar. For the king to have a  _ rifle _ in the palace, it was so dangerous as to be ridiculous. Damn their feud, this took priority. What if it went off on accident? What if he hurt himself with it? What if, in the event of an emergency, he tried to actually  _ use _ it? An assailant could disarm him and then where would they all be? An assassin with a gun… that was a genuine nightmare.

Ilesidur less walked and more stumbled through the halls until he found the guard hall, still in a daze, mind reeling from what he had seen. Without knocking, he strode into Captain Erro’ar’s office, ignoring how disheveled and disgraced he looked. No doubt there was a wild glint in his eyes, something unhinged, but it was alright.

When Captain Erro’ar looked up, there was no affection in his gaze. What had initially been genuine curiosity at who was so bold as to enter his office without first announcing themselves morphed into something cold, hard, and closed off. Fine, that was fine. He didn’t have to like Ilesidur, but surely he would understand and do something about this. He had to—he would likely have more luck, too, considering how close he was to the king.

“The king has a gun.” His words came out as one breath, as if he had run the whole way.

Captain Erro’ar didn’t react, only closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying inhale.

That was his opening to continue, apparently. “I was speaking with him in his chambers and…” and I misinterpreted what he had meant because he’s so different from everyone else in this building, “and he had a gun. A real gun, not a toy one. It—”

“Get out.”

Those two words punched a hole in Ilesidur’s stomach, somehow more painful than his physical wound.

Flapping his mouth like a fish on dry land, his voice came out cracked and ragged. “What?”

Captain Erro’ar ignored the lack of formality entirely, real anger filling his expression, anger that he had kept reined in for so long, bubbling to the forefront of his mind. It made Ilesidur’s heart sink, the way his superior’s breathing became purposefully slow in an attempt to calm down before he said something he might regret later. Today had just been a day of fucking up, hadn’t it?

“I said ‘get out’.” The words were ground out, sharp enough to cut. The captain’s voice came low and severe, none of that calm lightness that others received. “I don’t have time for whatever this is. You don’t respect me, fine. I don’t care anymore. But you will  _ not _ try to stall my investigation like this, and you will  _ not _ distract me from what needs to be done. If you want to go and spread rumors, fine by me, but you will be written up for this. Threaten to go to the Queen, the King, whoever. Go to Sair Beli or Abzadel for all I’m concerned with this.”

Ilesidur’s heart raced in his chest, loud and rushing. “I-I’m not, I swear by the Trinity! Please, I wanted to bring up this safety concern—”

“You always want to bring up a ‘safety concern’. Make work for me later, when there isn’t someone intent on drugging nobility to apprehend.”

This… this was the worst possible scenario; he was having a nightmare right now. “It’s real this time! It is! Please, Captain, check his rooms, you’ll find it—”

Meeting his gaze, Captain Erro’ar’s eyes were less like coals and more bonfires. “No. Leave. You’re off shift for the rest of this week. If you have an issue with it, you know where Sair Beli’s office is and the means to file a formal complaint. I am  _ finished _ with being so tolerant of you. You want my position? Then damn well earn it instead of plotting and meddling with others’ affairs.”

Backing up, Ilesidur bumped up against the closed door, eyes wide as he searched for an exit in vain.

“You think I’m power hungry?”

“N-no, of course not—”

Captain Erro’ar laughed. “Don’t lie to me, I’ve heard the rumors. Well, let me put them straight. I learned that I was captain of the guard when an attendant bearing a letter appeared at my doorstep, congratulating me on my promotion. I wasn’t aware I had been in the damn  _ running _ . I never asked for this, but I’m still going to do my fucking job. Make my job harder when there isn’t a crisis ongoing.”

Pale, Ilesidur heeded his words and fled the room, shutting the door behind him. He was going to have a panic attack, he was going to lose his mind right here in the guard hall. Everything was too much, too loud, too many eyes on him. His mother always said he had never been good with failure, after all. Was he going to be fired because of this? Was his mistake that severe? He couldn’t go back to the brothels; he wouldn’t survive that life.

Belatedly, he noticed his hands were trembling, his entire form shaking like a leaf in a storm. A few of the guards lingering in here, taking their breaks, approached, as if to help. He edged away, eyes wide, until his back met the cool stone of the wall leading to Argo’opoli. Breathing. He needed to slow his breathing and calm down.

His heartbeat came fast as he watched his comrades with numb, unseeing eyes. Who cared. Who cared if they saw him like this, his life was going to be forfeit soon anyway. He had tried to come onto the king without permission and had whittled away the last of Captain Erro’ar’s patience. This was it. He was either going to be fired or executed, and he didn’t know which was worse. They would take him apart in the brothels, or Captain Erro’ar would have a wonderful time picking his excuses to pieces and draining him of any will to live during his interrogation.

Someone shouted something, a few people rushed about. Around him, doors opened and closed as he sunk down to the floor. Tears made wet tracks down his cheeks as he buried his face in his knees, flinching as someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

This was how his good fortune ended, not at the end of Essren’s vicious wit, but with his own stupidity dragging him down. Maybe he could be able to send a letter to his mother, explain why he had left home so suddenly after all these years. She likely hated him for it. Perhaps, if he was very, very lucky, he would be able to plead for his life at the king’s feet. He might have even been granted the chance to sing Captain Erro’ar’s praises for his continued existence.

“Ilesidur.” A stern voice cut through the haze of it all. “Are you alright? I didn’t…” the words were broken up with a sigh, “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I’m sorry.”

Distantly, he heard himself laugh, something unhinged and maniacal. Was that really how he sounded? Halfway to madness? No wonder people were freaking out around him. It would be a small miracle if Lord Terioak’s movement didn’t lose a good deal of supporters after this show, after he revealed what the true punishment was for testing the king.

He felt himself shake his head. “I’m going to die.”

The voice sounded… resigned as it continued. “No, you aren’t. You all,” it raised in volume, carrying to their onlookers, “don’t you have jobs to do? Go on, git. Abzadel, go get Doctor Timrak and let her know she’ll be getting a new patient soon.”

Some murmured protests were snuffed out with what Ilesidur assumed to be a harsh look, judging from the voice’s tone. And then, like the Gods’ will, the room was blessedly quiet, blessedly empty. That hand on his shoulder became less an invasion and more a lifeline, something to hang onto in the gale of his own emotions. What a fool he was, so used to the way things were, so unwelcoming of change that he had been unable to see the noose snug around his neck.

A sob burst from his lips. “I’m going to die.” He repeated. “I’m going to die, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

Dabbing a handkerchief at his tears, the voice turned soothing, despite the wary edge to it. “I think there might be a thing or two in my control with that. Let’s breathe together, okay? In for one, two, three, four.” Ilesidur had no choice but to obey. “Out for one, two, three, four. There, good. Let’s keep doing that, alright?”

He nodded, though the motion came out more as a jerk. The words bubbled up out of him. “You’re wrong. I… I was stupid and now the king’s going to have me executed. I know what it sounds like—I know I sound like I’m having a psychotic break, but I’m not! I’m not.”

“Just focus on breathing for now, alright?” More tears were wiped away. “We can worry about whatever happened later. You aren’t going to die, especially not right now.”

Without thinking, Ilesidur rocked forward and buried his face in his captain’s chest, dissolving into inconsolable sobs. A hand patted his back gently, soothingly, as if they hadn’t been at each other’s necks all of five minutes ago. This was… this was different from anything he had ever expected. The previous captain of the guard would never have wasted his time with something like this, consoling someone meant to be strong enough to stand on their own, and yet here Captain Erro’ar was, rubbing his back and muttering little platitudes just because his lieutenant had a panic attack.

“Why?” Ilesidur managed. “You hate me. We hate each other.”

He felt more than heard Captain Erro’ar sigh. “Just because we have a mutual dislike of each other doesn’t mean I’m going to let you have a panic attack in public. I’m stoic, not evil. I’m sorry I was snappy with you.”

Shaking his head, Ilesidur tried to ignore the way he was definitely making his captain’s shirt damp. “You’re not supposed to be so nice to me. I’ve been vying for your job, I’ve been plotting against you. You should leave me to rot.” Quietly, he added, “It’s what I would have done in your place.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky I’m not you, then. We all do things we’re not supposed to, don’t we.” That hand rubbed calming circles that, despite himself, Ilesidur took solace in. “I hated that the most when I first got here, the way everyone was left to fend for themselves in a sea of hostility. We’re meant to be a team, so what use is that mindset if not to render us ineffective. I don’t care that you’ve spent four months plotting my downfall or whatever you call it, I really don’t. The guards are meant to guard, and so I’m going to dedicate my time to doing my job as best I can. A crucial aspect of that is making sure my guards are mentally stable.”

Sniffling, Ilesidur didn’t respond. There  _ had _ been an increase in the amount of people being given time off, mandatory therapy that he had fibbed and suffered through, mandatory days off for those who refused to take them themselves. Captain Erro’ar was a man who picked his battles, even when they had decided to demand his time.

He continued, letting his lieutenant cry himself out on his chest. “Your leave of absence isn’t meant to be a punishment. You never take orders from me, not even for your own benefit, so I went ahead and made it an official withdrawal because of this exact reason. Take a break. You need it. Take stock of what you want in life, and come back when you’re ready to serve the ruler that’s on the throne, not the one buried in the church backyard.”

“I thought they were laid to rest in catacombs.” A stupid thing to nitpick, but nitpick he did.

Captain Erro’ar chuckled at that. “I suppose they are. But please. All this time you spend fighting me, fighting the king… why not leave? Why not just head out and take another job somewhere else? There’s no need to subject yourself to all this.”

“Can’t.” Though he was interrupted by a hiccup, Ilesidur forged on. “This is my life, has been for thirty years.”

A bit of mental math brought his captain to Ilesidur’s age when he had signed on. “You were barely an adult.”

“Needed the money. King Essren liked me.” Why was he spilling his life story? A bit of heightened emotions and he was playing confessional.

Captain Erro’ar was silent for a long, long time after that, even as Ilesidur’s tears slowly dried up and his trembling faded into something far more manageable. Despite their disdain for each other, he let the man take his time getting ready, composing himself, putting himself back together. All this potential productivity wasted on him. Ilesidur didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve this at all.

After a surprisingly long stretch of quiet, Captain Erro’ar bid him to rise and clock out, uncaring about the splotch of wetness decorating his breast. Ilesidur nodded, his cheeks heating up at what exactly his day had been. Tomorrow, he could go back to plotting or whatever he was doing nowadays, but now? This evening? Captain Erro’ar had shown him a mercy he so rarely saw, and he would honor that. He had no choice.

Once the man learned what he had done… well… his hands would be tied, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> We have a [podfic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cq_Bcght_F8)!  
> [catch me on tumblr](https://timeslive-inhouse.tumblr.com/)


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